wished--leave you together to have your talk out." And Percival
felt irritated by Elizabeth's determination.

"Will you smoke?" she asked, when the meal was over.

"I don't mind if I do. Will you come into the study--that's the
smoking-room, is it not?--or is it too late for you?"

"It is not very late," said Elizabeth.

When they were seated in the study, Percival in a great green arm-chair,
and Elizabeth opposite to him in a much smaller one, he attempted to
take matters somewhat into his own hands.

"I won't ask to-night what you wanted me for," he said, easily. "I am
rather battered and sleepy; we shall talk better to-morrow."

"You can set my mind at rest on one point, at any rate," rejoined
Elizabeth, whose face burned with a feverish-looking flush. "It is, of
course, a mistake that you knew a week ago of Brian Luttrell being in
London?"

"Oh, of course," said Percival. But the irony in his voice was too plain
for her to be deceived by it.

"Did you know, Percival?"

"Well, if you must have the plain truth," he said, sitting up and
examining the end of his cigar with much attention, "I did."

She was silent. He raised his eyes, apparently with some effort, to her
face; saw there a rather shocked and startled look, and rushed
immediately into vehement speech.

"What if I did! Do you expect me to rush to you with every disturbing
report I hear? I did not see this man, Brian Luttrell; I should not know
him if I did--as Brian Luttrell, at any rate. I merely heard the story
from a--an acquaintance of mine----"

"Dino Vasari," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, I see you know the facts. There is no need for me to say any more.
Of course, you attach no weight to any reasons I might have for
silence."

"Indeed, I do, Percival; or I should do, if I knew what they were."

"Can you not guess them?" he said, looking at her intently. "Can you
think of no powerful motive that would make me anxious to delay the
telling of the story?"

"None," she said. "None, except one that would be beneath you."

"Beneath me? Is it possible?" scoffed Percival. "No motive is too base
for me, allow me to tell you, my dear child. I am the true designing
villain of romance. Go on: what is the one bad motive which you
attribute to me?"

"I do not attribute it to you," said Elizabeth, slowly, but with some
indignation. "I never in my life believed, I never shall believe, that
you cared in the least whether I was rich or poor."

Percival