"Went away? Impossible! he could not have left this house without my knowledge," exclaimed Beachcombe, too thoroughly roused for dissimulation. "Indeed!" said Prue, ominously gentle. "May I inquire since when you took upon yourself the right to observe the movements of my guests?" He pulled himself together a little. "My dear Lady Brooke," he said, as suavely as he could, "can you not understand my anxiety about you? You surely are not surprised that I was reluctant to leave you unprotected in the power of a ruffian—an escaped convict—" "Whose escape you procured, I am told," she replied, "for family reasons." "The same reasons for which I am now anxious to meet him," retorted the earl. "I know not by what arts he has induced you to help him—or to conceal him, perhaps—under a mistaken compassion for a fugitive—" "Would you wish to search the house, Lord Beachcombe?" said Prue, majestically rising. "If so, do not hesitate to make the minutest investigation. You will be quite as successful to-day as your emissaries were yesterday. Captain de Cliffe came into my grandmother’s house openly and without precaution and walked out of it two hours ago, just as you, Lord Beachcombe, will do when you have satisfied yourself of my veracity—and with as little prospect of ever returning!" Lord Beachcombe stood dumfounded. Could this pale, proud woman, her azure eyes suddenly black with anger and her clear voice vibrant with passion, be the gay, frivolous creature, who had played with his heart for a few weeks and tossed it back to him with a gibe and a laugh; whom no one could anger, because nothing ever seemed worth being angry about, and whose deepest emotion had always been more volatile than the bubbles of champagne? What had happened to work such a transformation? "I fear that you have misunderstood me, Lady Prudence," he said at last. "If I have unwittingly offended you, I beg to apologize most humbly." Prue preserved a disdainful silence. "Pray pardon my inadvertence," Beachcombe went on, still more abjectly. "I can not leave you again under sentence of banishment—at least permit me to withdraw—" "What! without searching the house?" interrupted Prue trenchantly; "I should advise you not to miss an opportunity that may not recur." Lord Beachcombe drew himself up with a grieved air. "I merely wished to withdraw any remark that might be displeasing to you, Viscountess. It would grieve me beyond expression to offend you. If, in my excitement, I appeared incredulous, it was not that I presumed to doubt your word, but that I found it hard to believe that Fate could have played me so scurvy a trick."