any man I had ever met. I
don't know exactly why I should take you so far into my confidence, but I
am inclined to do so. Our friendship seemed likely to develop into--other
things."

"My dear Duchess--"

"Don't interrupt me! I have an idea that you were perfectly aware of it.
Perhaps it did not suit your plans. At any rate, you made statements to
me concerning him which, as you very well knew, were likely to alter my
entire opinion of him. I had an idea that there was some code of honour
between men which kept them from discussing the private life of their
friends with a woman. You seem to have been troubled with no such
scruples. You told me things about Lawrence Mannering which made it
absolutely necessary that I should hear them confirmed or denied from his
own lips."

"You would rather have remained in ignorance, then?" he asked.

"I would rather have remained in ignorance," she repeated, calmly. "Don't
flatter yourself, Sir Leslie, that a woman ever has any real gratitude in
her heart for the person who, out of friendship, or some other motive,
destroys her ideals. I should have married Lawrence Mannering if you had
not spoken."

Borrowdean was silent. In his heart he was thinking how nearly one of the
most cherished schemes of his life had gone awry.

"I am afraid, then," he said, "that even at the risk of your further
displeasure I have no regrets to offer you."

"I do not desire your regrets," she answered, scornfully. "You did what
it suited you to do, and I presume you are satisfied. As for the rest, I
can assure you that the relations between Mr. Mannering and myself are
such that the balance of your political apple-cart is not likely to be
disturbed. Now let us talk of something else. I have said all that I have
to say on this matter--"

Sir Leslie was not entirely satisfied with the result of his afternoon
call. He walked slowly from Grosvenor Square to a small house in Sloane
Gardens, in front of which a well-appointed victoria was waiting. He
looked around at the well-filled window-boxes, thick with geraniums and
marguerites, at the coachman's new livery, at the evidences of luxury
which met him the moment the door was opened, and his lips parted in a
faint, unpleasant smile.

"Poor Mannering," he murmured to himself. "What a millstone!"

Mrs. Phillimore was at home. She would certainly see Sir Leslie, the
trim parlour-maid thought, with a smile. She left him alone in a
flower-scented drawi