“My dear brother,” she protested, “I admit your right to ask the question, but really you might credit me with a less drastic but hardly less effective method of giving aggressive admirers their quietus. Poor Captain Martindale! He was very confident in his powers of fascination, but his vanity scarcely deserved that punishment.” Her brother had become calmer to face the situation. “Then do you know anything about the mystery?” he demanded. “Can you throw any light upon what happened? It never occurred to me to ask you that before, Alix; but if you know the real culprit, it is no time to keep silence now that this fearful odium rests on you. You will tell me?” She shook her head. “I know nothing. I left Captain Martindale in that little room alive and well; objectionably so, I fear I thought him. And that was the last I saw of him.” “He, Martindale, made love to you?” Prosper asked, after a troubled pause. Alexia gave a shrug. “He made love to every woman worth making love to. Yes, he included me in his score. Unfortunately I was obliged by an act of friendship to give him the opportunity.” “Ah, yes?” “You know Hilda Dainton? He was inclined to behave very badly to her. Some men cannot bear to think that there is any happiness left in store for their cast-off loves. Hilda had made a fool of herself, and repented--too soon, I fancy, and Captain Martindale, when he found his power over her slipping away, tried to make use of another hold over her; some stupid letters.” Prosper nodded. “I see, Alix. You could help her when she could not help herself.” “I considered anything fair with such a man,” Alexia replied simply. “One must fight unscrupulous deceivers with their own weapons. The man made love to me and there was my opportunity. At the price of a kiss I got Hilda’s letters back for her, and in return presented Captain Martindale with my opinion of his conduct. That was all.” “I wish it were all, Alix,” her brother said gravely. “At present it looks as though we were at the beginning of an ugly scandal; none the less ugly that it is untrue.” “I am sorry, Prosper,” Alexia replied. “But what can I do? I cannot marry a man I detest even to avoid the most hideous of scandals.” Her brother started. “What do you mean?” “Simply,” she answered with a shrug, “that we owe this to Mr. Aubrey Playford.” “That fellow? Ah, yes; you forbade him the house.” “It was necessary,” Alexia said coldly. “When people forget themselves, they can scarcely complain if the rest of the world shows a disposition to consign them to oblivion. But he came here the other day and confirmed my opinion of him by giving me my choice between this scandal and himself.” Prosper began to pace the room impatiently. “It is unfortunate, Alix,” he remarked somewhat querulously, “that you seem fated to fascinate the wrong men.” “It carries a sufficient punishment with it, my dear Prosper,” she returned. “You need not add your reproaches.”