“I have served my King well,” he answered gloomily. There fell a little silence; they were only a foot apart and the sense of his presence over her was as strong as if he touched her with both hands; instinctively she made a sharp movement backwards and something fell with a rattle to the ground. “Your brooch,” said Mr. Wedderburn and picked it up. She put her hand to her open collar. “Ah—it is hard to fasten.” “Let me try,” said he gravely. She looked at him in a confused manner. “Yes; the fastening is difficult,” said Mr. Wedderburn with the sapphire in his hand—“hold up your head.” Obviously nerving herself, Delia obeyed; he bent over her and his tie brushed her bosom; his hand touched her bare throat as he adjusted the brooch; at the sensation she gave an uncontrollable start that made the pin again fly and prick her flesh; with a little cry she stepped back. “I have hurt you!” cried Mr. Wedderburn; and his white face slightly flushed—“Forgive me—” “Ah, no, ’twas mine own fault,” said Delia, but if the scratch had been poisoned she could not have spoken more faintly or with paler lips. Mr. Wedderburn looked at her keenly and she seemed to know it though her eyes were downcast, for her face was flushed as suddenly as his and she set her teeth in her under lip. “What is your part in these plots?” he asked abruptly. Still looking down she answered. “Sir, I do what I am bid—at present little enough—if a chance came I should pray to be worthy of it—I would give my life for the cause.” “What cause?” demanded Mr. Wedderburn. “The invasion of England and the assassination of the King?” “The King?” she echoed, amazed. “King William—” “Ah—the Prince!” cried Delia. “Do they, sir, call him King at St. Germains?” Mr. Wedderburn looked vexed: “King _de facto_ he is, Miss Delia—even when you acknowledge James King _de jure_!” Delia smiled. “We make no count of these lawyer’s terms, sir—” “Nor of the law, I think,” he answered. “’Tis my profession.” “You are a lawyer, sir?” He smiled gloomily. “Yes—a rare thing, you will say to find a lawyer and a conspirator in one—” “Oh, no,” said Delia, “but I had rather, sir, you had been a soldier.” “I have been that, too,” he answered. “I’ve trailed a pike in France and Holland with fine scum for company—” he turned round on her suddenly—“that must have been before you were born, Miss Delia.” She gave a start of surprise; he seemed a young man; he read her thought and smiled: “I am six and thirty; you, I think, not above eighteen; my soldiering was more than twenty years ago—a dead thing!—but you have not answered me—are you deeply in this plot—to assassinate the Prince?” “I have not heard of it,” she answered. “They do not tell me everything—yet I can answer for Mr. Caryl at least that he would not stain his cause with murder.” He frowned. “Is he your lover?” “No,” her brown eyes lifted steadily. “I have no lover.” Mr. Wedderburn considered her curiously.