thing he could have
confided to me of all others.

When that peppery Scotsman opened his heart, and poured forth the true
story of Aunt Fay's mysterious disappearance from the scene, for a
minute or two any feather floating in my direction could have knocked me
down; but I hung on to my captive uncle all the same, while I rearranged
my ideas of the universe at large, and my corner of it in particular.

I told him it was nonsense to be jealous of Aunt Fay. Of course such a
pretty, jolly woman as she, full of life and fun as a girl, was bound
to be popular with men, and to flirt with them a little. There was
nothing in that to make a fuss about, said I. As for Brederode (whom I
had to admit knowing, since we must have been seen together) I assured
Sir Alec that, if he could hear Rudolph talk in a friendly way about my
aunt, he wouldn't have the slightest uneasiness. Finally I made the
fiery fellow confess that Aunt Fay's last little flirtation--the most
innocent in the world, like all her "affairs"--was not with Brederode
but with an Englishman, an officer in some crack regiment. Sir Alec did
not deny that he had scolded his wife. He said that she had "answered
him back," that there had been "words" on both sides, that she had
stamped her foot and thrown a bunch of roses at him--middle-aged,
wet-footed roses snatched from a vase which happened to be handy. That
he had called her a minx; that she had retorted with "beast"; that he
had stalked out of the room and then out of the house, slamming doors as
hard as he could; that when he returned, not exactly to apologize, but
to make up at any price, it was to find her gone, with her maid and
several boxes, leaving no address; that he had tracked her to London,
and eventually--as he believed--to Paris; that while there he had seen a
newspaper paragraph announcing that Lady MacNairne was traveling through
Dutch waterways on a motor-boat belonging to Jonkheer Brederode; that he
had taken train for Amsterdam, where he had presently discovered that
"Lorelei" had been; that he had visited all hotels, hoping to find the
names of the party in the visitors' book, but had not been able to
discover them (luckily we hadn't put our names down, and on leaving Alb
had tactfully hinted to the manager that no inquiries concerning us were
to be answered); that since then all trace of "Lorelei" had been lost.

I replied that it was probably a mistake made by some journalist, and
that Lady Ma