“She confessed to me that she had pledged a great deal of the time for which I pay her to Evelyn Crowborough’s bazaar, and asked what she was to do.  I told her, of course, that I would put up with nothing of the kind.”

“And were more annoyed, alack! than propitiated by her confession?” said Sir Wilfrid, with a shrug.

“I dare say,” said Lady Henry.  “You see, I guessed that it was not spontaneous; that you had wrung it out of her.”

“What else did you expect me to do?” cried Sir Wilfrid.  “I seem, indeed, to have jolly well wasted my time.”

“Oh no.  You were very kind.  And I dare say you might have done some good.  I was beginning to—­to have some returns on myself, when the Duchess appeared on the scene.”

“Oh, the little fool!” ejaculated Sir Wilfrid, under his breath.

“She came, of course, to beg and protest.  She offered me her valuable services for all sorts of superfluous things that I didn’t want—­if only I would spare her Julie for this ridiculous bazaar.  So then my back was put up again, and I told her a few home truths about the way in which she had made mischief and forced Julie into a totally false position.  On which she flew into a passion, and said a lot of silly nonsense about Julie, that showed me, among other things, that Mademoiselle Le Breton had broken her solemn compact with me, and had told her family history both to Evelyn and to Jacob Delafield.  That alone would be sufficient to justify me in dismissing her. N’est-ce pas?”

“Oh yes,” murmured Sir Wilfrid, “if you want to dismiss her.”

“We shall come to that presently,” said Lady Henry, shortly.  “Imagine, please, the kind of difficulties in which these confidences, if they have gone any further—­and who knows?—­may land me.  I shall have old Lord Lackington—­who behaved like a brute to his daughter while she was alive, and is, all the same, a poseur from top to toe—­walking in here one night and demanding his granddaughter—­spreading lies, perhaps, that I have been ill-treating her.  Who can say what absurdities may happen if it once gets out that she is Lady Rose’s child?  I could name half a dozen people, who come here habitually, who would consider themselves insulted if they knew—­what you and I know.”

“Insulted?  Because her mother—­”

“Because her mother broke the seventh commandment?  Oh, dear, no!  That, in my opinion, doesn’t touch people much nowadays.  Insulted because they had been kept in the dark—­that’s all.  Vanity, not morals.”

“As far as I can ascertain,” said Sir Wilfrid, meditatively, “only the Duchess, Delafield, Montresor, and myself are in the secret.”

“Montresor!” cried Lady Henry, beside herself. “Montresor! That’s new to me.  Oh, she shall go at once—­at once!” She breathed hard.

“Wait a little.  Have you had any talk with Jacob?”

“I should think not!  Evelyn, of course, brings him in perpetually—­Jacob this and Jacob that.  He seems to have been living in her pocket, and the three have been intriguing against me, morning, noon, and night.  Where Julie has found the time I can’t imagine; I thought I had kept her pretty well occupied.”