She did not answer for some time. At heart she despised this Imperial Prince, before whom half the women in London bowed and curtsied. She had once allowed him to pay court to her in his fussy, foreign manner, amused and flattered that one of his degree should find her interesting; but all that was now of the past. In those brief moments as they rode together along the country road in the wintry twilight, recollections of summer days at Fernhurst came back to her, and she hated herself. In those days she had actually forgotten Dudley. And then she also remembered how this man had condemned her lover: how he had urged her to break off the acquaintance, and how he had hinted at some secret which, when exposed, must result in Dudley's ruin. Those enigmatical words of his had caused her much thought. At what had he hinted? A thousand times had she endeavoured to discover his meaning, but had utterly failed. If such a secret actually existed, and if its revelation could cause the downfall of Dudley Chisholm, then it was surely her duty to discover it and to seek its suppression. This latter thought caused her to hesitate, and to leave unsaid the hasty answer that had flashed into her mind. "Well," she said at length, "now that you have spoken plainly, I may as well confess that I have been annoyed--very much annoyed." "I regret that!" he exclaimed with quick concern. "If I have caused madame any annoyance, I assure her it was not in the least intentional. But tell me how I have annoyed you." "Oh, it was a small matter, quite a trivial one," she said with affected carelessness, settling her habit and glancing furtively at the man who had declared that he held her lover's secret. "But you will tell me," he urged. "Please do. I have already apologised." "Then that is sufficient," she replied. "No, it is not sufficient I must know my offence, to be fully cognisant of its gravity." Her brows contracted slightly, but in the fading light he did not notice the shadow of annoyance that passed across her countenance. "As I have told you, the offence was not a grave one," she declared. "I was merely annoyed, that is all." "Annoyed by my actions, or by my words?" "By your words." "On what occasion?" "On the last occasion you dined at my house." For a moment his face assumed a puzzled expression, then in an instant the truth flashed upon him. "Ah!" he cried; "I recollect, of course. Madame has been offended at what I said regarding her friend, the Under-Secretary. I can only repeat my apologies." "You repeat them because what you told me was untrue!" she exclaimed, turning and looking him full in the face. They had allowed their horses to walk, in order to be able to converse. "I much regret, madame, that it was true," he replied. "All of it?" "All of it." "And there exists somewhere or other a document which inculpates Dudley Chisholm?" "Yes, it inculpates him very gravely, I am sorry to say." "Sorry! Why?"