"It is unwise," he said, as he offered me a cigar, "ever to converse privately on the deck of a steamer. Though I have travelled little by sea, I know that on board ship, especially on a small boat like this, voices carry in an extraordinary manner. Standing down wind of you, on deck, some moments ago, I heard your remarks quite distinctly, in spite of my deafness. I even recognized your voices—until then I did not know you were on board." "But why are you here, father?" Dulcie exclaimed. "When did you leave England?" "I crossed the night before last. Connie wired to me to come at once—she said in her telegram 'most urgent,' though she gave no reason for the urgency." "And have you seen her? Where is she now?" "I was to meet her in the lounge of the Hotel Bristol in Paris last night. Punctually at nine o'clock, the time arranged, I arrived there. I waited until nearly ten, and then a messenger arrived with a note. It was from her. She said in it that she had been telegraphed for to return to England, that she was leaving by the night boat. She expressed deep regret, and said she hoped that I would come back to London as soon as possible—and so here I am." Again, for some moments, nobody spoke. Dulcie was the first to break the silence. "Father," she exclaimed impetuously, "are you really going to—are you still determined to marry that woman?" Sir Roland stared at her. "'That woman'?" he said in surprised indignation. "Whom do you mean by 'that woman'?" "Connie Stapleton, father," she answered, looking him full in the eyes. "Have you the least idea who and what she is?" Sir Roland gazed at her aghast. Then, obviously controlling himself: "I know that she has done me the honour of accepting my offer of marriage," he replied, with cold dignity. "More than that, I don't ask to know; her circumstances don't interest me; my fortune is ample for both." Dulcie made a gesture of impatience. "For goodness' sake, father," she exclaimed, "how can you talk like that? Connie Stapleton is—" She turned to me abruptly. "Oh, Mike," she said in a tone of great vexation, "tell him everything—I can't." I cleared my throat to gain time to collect my thoughts. Sir Roland's rather dull stare was set upon my face inquiringly, though his expression betrayed astonishment and keen annoyance. "It's just this, Sir Roland," I said at last, bracing myself to face an unpleasant task. "You, Dulcie, and I too, have been completely taken in by Mrs. Stapleton. We believed her to be as charming as she certainly is beautiful, we thought she was a lady, we—" "'Thought'!" Sir Roland interrupted, cold with anger. "I still consider her to be—"