vilry, seemed suddenly to have shrunk to the dimensions of a
somewhat sorry jest. It was, I now reflected, but a poor game to
deceive an innocent girl and an old man as guileless. Innocence is a
great safeguard.

"Monsieur," I answered, on the spur of the moment, "I have no such
qualities as you naturally seek in a secretary. I received my
education at Eton and at Cambridge University. If you want a secretary
to bowl you a straight ball, or pull a fairly strong oar, I am your
man, for I learnt little else. I possess, indeed, the ordinary
education of an English gentleman, sufficient Latin to misread an
epitaph or a motto, and too little Greek to do me any harm. I have,
however, a knowledge of French, which I acquired at Geneva, whither my
father sent me when I--er--was sent down from Cambridge. I have again
quarrelled with my father. It is an annual affair. We usually quarrel
when the hunting ends. This time it is serious. I have henceforth to
make my way in the world. I am, Monsieur, what you would call a bad
subject."

The tolerance with which my abrupt confession was received only made
me the more self-reproachful. The worst of beginning to tell the truth
is that it is so hard to stop. I could not inform him that I had
fallen in love with a tone in his daughter's voice, with a light in
her eyes--I, who had never made serious love to any woman yet. He
would only think me mad.

There were in truth many matters with which I ought to have made the
Vicomte acquainted. My quarrel with my father, for instance, had
originated in my refusal to marry Isabella Gayerson--a young lady with
landed estates and a fortune of eighty thousand pounds. I merely
informed Monsieur, I confess, that my father and I had fallen out over
money matters. Cannot most marriages arranged by loving parents be so
described? To my recitation the old gentleman listened with much
patience, and when I had partially eased my soul he merely nodded,
saying:

"My question is not yet answered, mon ami. Do you know aught of French
politics?"

"Absolutely nothing," was my answer, made in all honesty. And I
thought I was speaking my own dismissal.

Monsieur de Clericy leant back in his chair with a shrug of the
shoulders.

"Well," he muttered, half to himself, "perhaps it is of little
consequence. You understand, Monsieur," he continued in a louder tone,
looking at me kindly, "I like you. I may say it without impertinence,
because I am an old man and y