“I had another motive too, George—a brighter and better one. We women are usually supposed to be cats, but at any rate I’d done another woman a good turn this afternoon. This man isn’t likely to go off looking for another Virginia Revel. He thinks he’s found his bird all right. Poor little devil, she was in a blue funk when she wrote that letter. Mr. Blackmailer would have had the easiest job of his life there. Now, though he doesn’t know it, he’s up against a tough proposition. Starting with the great advantage of having led a blameless life, I shall toy with him to his undoing—as they say in books. Guile, George, lots of guile.” George still shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he persisted. “I don’t like it.” “Well, never mind, George dear. You didn’t come here to talk about blackmailers. What did you come here for, by the way? Correct answer: ‘To see _you_!’ Accent on the you, and press her hand with significance unless you happen to have been eating heavily buttered muffin, in which case it must all be done with the eyes.” “I did come to see you,” replied George seriously. “And I am glad to find you alone.” “Oh, George, this is so sudden,” says she, swallowing a currant. “I wanted to ask a favour of you. I have always considered you, Virginia, as a woman of considerable charm.” “Oh, George!” “And also a woman of intelligence!” “Not really? How well the man knows me.” “My dear Virginia, there is a young fellow arriving in England to-morrow whom I should like you to meet.” “All right, George, but it’s your party—let that be clearly understood.” “You could, I feel sure, if you chose, exercise your considerable charm.” Virginia cocked her head a little on one side. “George, dear, I don’t ‘charm’ as a profession, you know. Often I like people—and then, well, they like me. But I don’t think I could set out in cold blood to fascinate a helpless stranger. That sort of thing isn’t done, George, it really isn’t. There are professional sirens who would do it much better than I should.” “That is out of the question, Virginia. This young man, he is a Canadian, by the way, of the name of McGrath——” “A Canadian of Scotch descent,” says she, deducing brilliantly. “Is probably quite unused to the higher walks of English society. I should like him to appreciate the charm and distinction of a real English gentlewoman.” “Meaning me?” “Exactly.” “Why?” “I beg your pardon?” “I said why? You don’t boom the real English gentlewoman with every stray Canadian who sets foot upon our shores. What is the deep idea, George? To put it vulgarly, what do _you_ get out of it?” “I cannot see that that concerns you, Virginia.” “I couldn’t possibly go out for an evening and fascinate, unless I knew all the whys and wherefors.” “You have a most extraordinary way of putting things, Virginia. Anyone would think——” “Wouldn’t they? Come on, George, part with a little more information.”