ion," I responded. "Let me ask you if you have
known Miss Constance Pleyel long?"

"Do you know, my good Captain Fyffe," said the little woman, toying idly
with the _vinaigrette_ and sniffing at its contents now and then, "you
have a manner which is abominably resolute. You are speaking to me as if
you were a rustic _juge d'instruction_, and I a prisoner in the dock."

"I beg your pardon, baroness; I was conscious of no such manner. Will
you oblige me by telling me if you have known this lady long?"

"I do not recognize your right to question me," said the baroness; "but
since you are audacious enough to come here and to question me about
that lady after what I heard last night--" she paused there of set
purpose, and repeating the words "after what I heard last night" with
emphasis, paused again.

"After what you heard last night," I repeated, unable to attach any
meaning whatever to her words.

"You decline to understand me?" she said, with a threatening nod of her
pretty little head. "Very well. But if," still with marked emphasis,
"after what I heard last night you are sufficiently audacious to come
here and ask me questions about Constance Pleyel, I can tell you that I
have known that lady long enough to know the history of her life and how
far you are responsible for the sorrows she has known."

"I responsible?" I cried.

"Do you deny it?" she retorted.

I had risen to my feet unconsciously, and she arose to face me.

"I deny it absolutely!" I answered. "The suggestion is an outrage!"

For sole answer she touched a little silver gong which stood upon the
table. A servant appeared in answer to the sound, and the baroness,
without turning her head towards him, said, "Send my compliments to Miss
Pleyel, and let her know Captain Fyffe has called."

I stood rooted in astonishment.

CHAPTER XI

The baroness walked to the window as the servant retired, throwing upon
me as she went by a look of mingled triumph and disdain. I had no word
to say for myself, and I awaited the progress of events with wonder. The
baroness looked out upon the street, with her tiny foot tapping at the
carpet, until the servant returned.

"Well?" said she, imperatively turning on him.

The man looked confused and stammered.

"Well?" she repeated, with an angry impatience.

"I beg your pardon, Madame la Baronne, but I am to say--"

"You are to say?" she echoed, scornfully, seeing that he paused and
stammered anew. "Say w