“You don’t mind that?”

“Yes, I do.  Nobody likes being called a thief—­especially when there’s a kind of truth about it.  But I should mind losing you more.”

“Are you really very fond of me, Jack?  No, you needn’t say so.  I think you are.  Now I’ll tell you a secret.  If you hadn’t come here, I should have married General Whittingham long ago.  I stayed here intending to do it (oh, yes, I’m not a nice girl, Jack), and he asked me very soon after you first arrived.  I gave him my money, you know, then.”

I was listening intently.  It seemed as if some things were going to be cleared up.

“Well,” she continued, “you know what happened.  You fell in love with me—­I tried to make you; and then I suppose I fell a little in love with you.  At any rate I told the President I wouldn’t marry him just then.  Some time after, I wanted some money, and I asked him to give me back mine.  He utterly refused; you know his quiet way.  He said he would keep it for ‘Mrs. Whittingham.’  Oh, I could have killed him!  But I didn’t dare to break with him openly; besides, he’s very hard to fight against.  We had constant disputes; he would never give back the money, and I declared I wouldn’t marry him unless I had it first, and not then unless I chose.  He was very angry and swore I should marry him without a penny of it; and so it went on.  But he never suspected you, Jack; not till quite the end.  Then we found out about the debt, you know; and about the same time I saw he at last suspected something between you and me.  And the very day before we came to the bank he drove me to desperation.  He stood beside me in this room, and said, Christina, I am growing old.  I shall wait no longer.  I believe you’re in love with that young Martin.’  Then he apologized for his plain speaking, for he’s always gentle in manner.  And I defied him.  And then, Jack, what do you think he did?”

I sprang up in a fury.

“What?” I cried.

“He laughed!” said the signorina, with tragic intensity.  “I couldn’t stand that, so I joined the colonel in upsetting him.  Ah, he shouldn’t have laughed at me!”

And indeed she looked at this moment a dangerous subject for such treatment.

“I knew what no one else knew, and I could influence him as no one else could, and I had my revenge.  But now,” she said, “it all ends in nothing.”

And she broke down, sobbing.

Then, recovering herself, and motioning me to be still, she went on: 

“You may think, after holding him at bay so long, I have little to fear from the colonel.  But it’s different.  The President has no scruples; but he is a gentleman—­as far as women are concerned.  I mean—­he wouldn’t—­”

She stopped.

“But McGregor?” I asked, in a hoarse whisper.

She drooped her head on my shoulder.

“I daren’t stay here, Jack, with him,” she whispered.  “If you can’t take me away, I must go to the President.  I shall be at least safe with him!”