right with anger.

"I will not promise it," he declared. "I love Isobel, and very soon I
mean to tell her so."

"Then it must be under another roof," I answered. "If you will not
promise to keep absolutely silent until we at least know exactly what
her parentage is, you must leave us."

Arthur took up his hat.

"Very well," he said shortly. "I will send for my things to-morrow."

He left the room without another word to either of us.

CHAPTER III

"In diplomacy," the Baron remarked blandly, "as also, I believe, in
affairs of commerce, the dinner-table is frequently chosen as a fitting
place for the commencement of delicate negotiations. For a bargain--no!
But when three men--take ourselves, for instance--have a matter of some
importance to discuss, I can conceive no better opportunity for the
preliminary--skirmishing, shall I say?--than the present."

I raised my glass, and looked thoughtfully at the pale amber wine
bubbling up from the stem.

"From a certain point of view," I answered, "I entirely agree with you.
Yet you must remember that the host has always the advantage."

"In the present case," the Baron said with a smile, "that amounts to
nothing, for you practically gave me my answer before we sat down to
dinner. If I am able to induce you to change your mind--well, so much
the better. If not--well, I can have nothing to complain of."

"I am glad," I answered, "that you appreciate our position. With regard
to the present custody of the child, which I take it is what you want to
discuss with us, our minds are practically made up. My friend and I have
both agreed that we will continue the charge of her until she is claimed
by someone who is in a position to do so openly--someone, in short, who
has a legal right."

The Baron nodded gravely.

"An excellent decision," he said. "No one could possibly quarrel with
it. Yet it is a privilege to be able to tell you some facts which may
perhaps affect your point of view. I can explain to you _why_ this open
claim is not made."

"We are here," I answered, "to listen to whatever you may have to say."

We--Allan and I--were dining with the Baron at Claridge's. An
appointment, which he had begged us to make, had been changed into a
dinner invitation at his earnest request. There was a likelihood, he
told us, of his being summoned abroad at any moment, and he was
particularly anxious not to leave the hotel pending the arrival of a
cablegram. So far his