latitudes in English.

"Oh, you may speak French," she said carelessly.

"But your brother...." he answered.

"I understand French very well," I said. I was in no mood to spare him
embarrassments; wanted to show him that I had a hold over him, and knew
he wasn't the proper person to talk to a young lady. He glared at me
haughtily.

"But yesterday ..." he began in a tone that burlesqued august
displeasure. I was wondering what he had looked like on the other side
of the door--whilst that lady had been explaining his nature to me.

"Yesterday I wished to avoid embarrassments," I said; "I was to
represent your views about Greenland. I might have misunderstood you in
some important matter."

"I see, I see," he said conciliatorily. "Yesterday we spoke English for
the benefit of the British public. When we speak French we are not in
public, I hope." He had a semi-supplicating manner.

"Everything's rather too much in public here," I answered. My part as I
imagined it was that of a British brother defending his sister from
questionable attentions--the person who "tries to show the man he isn't
wanted." But de Mersch didn't see the matter in that light at all. He
could not, of course. He was as much used to being purred to as my aunt
to looking down on non-county persons. He seemed to think I was making
an incomprehensible insular joke, and laughed non-committally. It
wouldn't have been possible to let him know he wasn't wanted.

"Oh, you needn't be afraid of my brother," she said suddenly. "He is
quite harmless. He is even going to give up writing for the papers
except when we want him."

The Duc turned from me to her, smiled and bowed. His smile was inane,
but he bowed very well; he had been groomed into that sort of thing or
had it in the blood.

"We work together still?" he asked.

"Why not?" she answered.

A hubbub of angry voices raised itself behind my back. It was one of the
_contretemps_ that made the Salon Grangeur famous throughout the city.

"You forced yourself upon me. Did I say anywhere that you were
responsible? If it resembles your particular hell upon earth, what is
that to me? You do worse things; you, yourself, monsieur. Haven't I seen
... haven't I seen it?"

The Duc de Mersch looked swiftly over his shoulder toward the window.

"They seem to be angry there," he said nervously. "Had not something
better be done, Miss Granger?"

Miss Granger followed the direction of his eyes.

"Why," s