"A question to which you and my Aunt Patricia could find no answer between you! It must be subtle indeed! How can I hope to succeed?" He ignored her sarcasm. "Because it concerns yourself, mademoiselle." "Ah!" She drew herself up and regarded him with sparkling eyes. One small foot began to tap the floor ominously. Then she broke into a vexed little laugh. "I am no match for you with the foils, count. I admit it, freely. I should have learned by this time that you never say what you mean, or mean what you say." "Forgive me, Miss Grayson, if I say that you mistake me utterly. I mean always what I say--most of all to you. But to say all that I mean--to put into speech all that one hopes or dreams--or dares--" his voice dropped to a whisper--"to turn oneself inside out like an empty pocket to the gaze of the multitude--that is--imbecile." He threw out his hands with an expressive gesture. "But to speak concretely--I have unhappily offended you, Miss Grayson. Something I have done or left undone--or my unfortunate personality does not engage your interest? Is it not true?" There was no mistaking his almost passionate sincerity now, held in check by the man's invincible composure. But the girl still held aloof, her blue eyes cool and watchful. For the moment her face, in its young hardness, bore a curious resemblance to her father's. "Is that your question?" she demanded. The count bowed silently. His lips were pale. "Then I will tell you!" She spoke in a low voice surcharged with emotion. "I will give you candour for candour, and make an end of all this paltry masquerade." "That," he murmured, "is what I most desire." Doris continued, heedless of the interruption. "It is true that I dislike you. I am glad to be able to say it to you, openly. And yet, perhaps, I should use another word. I dislike you and fear you in equal parts. I dislike your secrecy--something dark and hidden within you--and I fear your influence over my father." Her voice faltered over the last word, and she paused. Lady Dinsmore's cheerful tones broke across the silence. "Doris," she charged, "you are preaching to the count. He is looking quite sulky and bored." He shook his head at her, smiling. "My unfortunate face, it belies me. I was, in truth, deeply interested. Miss Grayson was speaking of her father." He turned back to the girl. "You will continue the--how you say--arraignment?" he asked gravely. "I would know the worst. I influence your father for evil--but how?" Doris looked at him sombrely. "I don't know--exactly," she admitted. "But you are somehow connected with the--the scheme--a terrible illegal scheme," her voice was only just audible. "That I know to a certainty. Father spoke to me one day of you----" Count Poltavo started. "It was after he had decoded a telegram. He looked up and spoke of your brilliance and discretion. He said you had the mind of a Napoleon."