"You are cruel," exclaimed Villa Fora, to whose style of good looks reproaches were becoming. "Cannot a man love twice? What does it matter to the heart whether there has been an interval of weeks or of years? I am madly in love with Miss Ffrench, and as you promised to be my friend if I would ’talk no more nonsense,’ I have no hesitation in confessing it to you. I followed her here from Paris, and arrived only this afternoon. She is at the Hotel Victoria; therefore, so am I." "So am I, but not ’therefore,’" cut in Joan. "And the--the man you say she is to marry?" "Colonel Sir Justin Wentworth? He is at the Grand. But he has come for her. I know the whole story--I have it from a gossiping old lady who is _au courant_ with every one’s affairs if they are worth bothering with; and she does not make mistakes. She has told me that General Ffrench was the guardian of this Sir Justin, that the father--a baronet--was his dearest friend. The match has been an understood thing ever since Wentworth was eighteen and the girl five; for there is quite thirteen years’ difference in their ages." "Then he is about thirty-four or five," said Joan thoughtfully. "Yes, but in that I am not interested. The awful part for me is that the girl is now of age, and the obstacle of her youth no longer prevents the marriage. Any day the worst may happen. If I could only meet her, I might have a chance to undermine the cold, bronze statue, even though he has a great reputation as a soldier, and is a V.C. But how to manage an introduction? The father has the air of a mediaeval dragon." Joan’s heart said: "The man is not a cold statue," but aloud she remarked: "I see now why you hoped that I knew Miss Ffrench. You wanted _me_ to manage it. Well, perhaps I can, even as it is. I have undertaken more difficult things and succeeded." "Oh, if you would! But why should I hope it, since you have nothing to gain?" Joan dropped her eyes and did not answer. "Yet you will try?" pleaded Villa Fora. "Yet I will try, on one condition. You must be a connection of the late Comte de Merival." "Your husband!" Joan smiled as she nodded. "I am Spanish; he was, I understand, French. But then that presents no difficulty. There are such things as international marriages." "Yes. Your mother’s sister married an uncle of my husband’s, didn’t she?" "Quite so. It is settled," agreed the Marchese gravely. "Well, then, that is the sharp end of the wedge. I will do my best and cleverest to insert it," said Joan. "As you have just arrived, it will be the easier. We are cousins. It can appear to all those whom it does not concern (meaning the gossips of the hotel) that you have run on to see your cousin. For the rest, you must trust me for a day or two, or perhaps more."