Lady Jim tapped his smooth cheek indulgently. "You foolish thing," she said, kindly; "if it was worth my while, I could----" Leaving the sentence unfinished and Lionel furious, she left the room. That she--this hardened coquette of the world, should dare to think he would forget the sweetest and best of girls. Let her sing the song of the sirens as she might, he would never--no, never, prove false to Joan. But honest as were these thoughts, Lionel was but a man, when all was said and done, and the touch on his shoulder, the look in her eyes, the cooing murmur of her voice, made him wince, and not unpleasantly. Well was it for the young man that Leah did not choose to try her wiles, else he might have been lured towards that pit the edges of which are wreathed with roses. Had his future Duchess been any other than Joan the simple, a perverse spirit might have led Lady Jim to indulge in some perilous amusement; but she liked the girl, and honestly respected Lionel. Therefore did the lover scoff at her magic arts, strong only in escaping temptation. Had Leah put forth her powers---- "Silly little donkey," she thought, climbing the stairs, "as if I couldn't do what I liked. It would be a hard battle, but I could--I could--I could,--only I shan't," she finished. "Joan is a dear girl, and I am the most worried woman in the world." She made the latter part of this final remark again, when she conned a brusque and somewhat imperative letter which had arrived by the evening post. It came from one Richard Strange, and purported to be written from a third-rate Strand hotel. This uncivilised communication intimated that the aforesaid Strange would be obliged--this underlined--if her ladyship would afford him an immediate interview. "M'm," commented Leah, glancing suspiciously at the underlined word, "he isn't sure of his money, and means to be nasty if he doesn't get it. Well"--she heaved a sigh--"he must be paid, I suppose, the blackmailing beast. And the whole sum down, I expect. Time payments won't be acceptable to a man who writes in this fashion." She wrote an artful letter, stating that Dr. Demetrius had spoken of his travels with a Captain Strange, and, solely because she wished to hear of poor Mr. Garth, who had been a protégé of her late father-in-law, she made an appointment at 10, Curzon Street, for five the next evening. This epistle, which did not recognise existing facts and could be shown to the whole world without betraying anything underhand, she sent off at once. If possible, she would have shirked meeting a man she more than suspected of being a brute. But to vanquish danger one must meet it, as she very well knew. "And if he wants more than his thousand," thought Lady Jim, again on her way to the widowed Marchioness, "he'll find that I am quite equal to deal with him, and with a dozen like him, if need be. A thousand pounds! Oh, Lord! The greedy wretch!" Then she spread her wings as a ministering angel. CHAPTER XXVII