She looked up, startled; then rose and led the way to an inner drawing-room, where they would be undisturbed. She seated herself in the chair, which, with unwonted ceremoniousness, he wheeled forward for her; but he himself stood on the hearth-rug, twisting and untwisting the paper in his hand, as if--extraordinary occurrence!--as if he were actually nervous. "I have a proposition to make to you," he said. He uttered his words very rapidly, but made long pauses between some of the sentences. "You say that Mr. Colquhoun is going to send out his clerk, Salt, to stop Brian Luttrell when he lands at Pernambuco. I have just seen Mr. Colquhoun, and he agrees with me that this proceeding is of very doubtful utility.... Now, don't interrupt me, I beg. If I throw cold water on this plan, it is only that I may suggest another which I think better.... Salt is a mere clerk: we cannot tell him all the circumstances, and the arguments that he will use will probably be such as a man like Luttrell will despise. I mean that he will put it on the ground of Luttrell's own interests--not Dino Vasari's, or--or yours.... What I propose is that someone should go who knows the story intimately, who knows the relations of all the parties.... If you like to trust me, I will do my best to bring Brian Luttrell home again." "You!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Oh, Percival, no." "And why not? I assure you I will act carefully, and I am sure I shall succeed. I have even persuaded Mr. Colquhoun of my good intentions--with some difficulty, I confess. Here is a note from him to you. He read it to me after writing it, and I know what he advises you to do." Elizabeth read the note. It consisted only of these words: "If you can make up your mind to let Mr. Percival Heron go in Salt's place, I think it would be the better plan.--J. C." "I'll be on my good behaviour, I promise you," said Percival, watching her, with lightness of tone which was rather belied by the mournful expression of his eyes. "I'll play no tricks, either with him or myself; and bring him safely back to Scotland--on my honour, I will. Do you distrust me so much, Elizabeth?" "Oh, no, no. Would it not be painful to you? I thought--you did not like Mr. Luttrell." She spoke with great hesitation. Percival made a grimace. "I don't say that I do like him. I mean to say that I want to show you--and myself--that I do--a little bit--regret my silence, and will try my best to remedy the mischief caused by it. A frank confession which ought to please you." "It does please me. I am sure of it. But you must not go--you must not leave your work----" "Oh, my work can be easily done by somebody else. That is what this telegram is about, by-the-bye. I must send an answer, and it depends upon your decision." "Can I not consult any one? My uncle? Mr. Colquhoun?"