"As to the lady?" Sir Francis took him up with a strained voice and his eyes narrowed and grew fiery. "Am I her protector?" asked my lord. "By Gad, it would give a colour to it if I interfered, would it not?" His tone was unpleasantly mocking. Sir Francis coloured swiftly. "I do not like the manner of your speech, my lord." Rose Lyndwood laughed. "Upon my honour, I do not know why you have come to me. Why do you not marry the lady out of hand and give them the lie that way?" "I do not think you understand me," said Sir Francis breathlessly. My lord opened wide, insolent eyes. "Has she jilted you? Are you sore on that? Well, you must not blame me. I know nothing of it, whatever they say in the _Gazette_," he sneered. "So you have answered my first question," said Sir Francis, keeping himself well in hand. "This"--he struck the paper lying before him--"is a malicious falsehood?" "It is a paragraph in the _Gazette_," answered Rose Lyndwood, raising his eyebrows. "I will have the name of the man who coined it and horsewhip him into an open confession!" exclaimed Sir Francis. "Is it worth while?" smiled the Earl. "There are always the pamphlets and lampoons, and if you offend a penman they will kill you in a paper warfare." "I have no care for that. I shall know how to act." "Why did you come to me?" the Earl interrupted suddenly. "To ask you if there were any truth in this libel." "Which seems as if you suggest there might be, Sir Francis." His tone changed. "And had there been, do you think that you would have got it from me?" he laughed. "I suppose that you came here to force a meeting on me?" "No," exclaimed Sir Francis, "no!" "The matter is too delicate for speech," continued the Earl, "and one you and I can never cross swords over. What is the use of these words? We each know what we know." He glanced swiftly at the other. "Do what seems good to you. You need give no thought to me." "Because I am helpless I came to you," answered Sir Francis in an agitated voice. "And I can be no help." "Will you not aid me to discover the writer of this?" Again he touched the paper. "I have no clue to go upon," answered the Earl slowly, "and I think you make too much of it. What does any of it matter?" His manner and his tone were devoid of meaning. Sir Francis Boyle, not knowing him, felt as if he dealt with a man of sand. Against his own conviction he believed the Earl was indifferent--to Miss Boyle, to everything; but he could not remain content. They fell both into silence. The solitary drawer passed them in a noiseless weariness. Sir Francis picked up the paper and folded it mechanically, then he looked across the table at my lord. A sharp exclamation left his lips, for he seemed to be looking at a dead man.