I saw no reason why I should inform either Mrs. Gordon or Jacqueline of my little trip to St. Petersburg. I greeted them both as if I had just come from Venice, and had duly received Mrs. Gordon’s invitation. It may be readily imagined that I was curious to know why Jacqueline had added her urgent telegram in addition to her aunt’s note.

But Jacqueline was never a primer to be spelled out with simplicity and accuracy. She met my anxious and significant glance–and I took care not to ask questions–with smiling and open-eyed composure. She was evidently relieved to see me, but she made no effort to see me alone. Rather, she seemed to avoid me; at least, until my visit drew to a close. That close was sudden and startling. My departure from the Hotel Grande Bretagne was nothing less than a dismissal.

It was not until after dinner that Mrs. Gordon gave me any clue as to why she had asked me to spend a few days with Jacqueline and herself at Lake Como. Just how long my visit was to 115last I was in dubious ignorance. I was smoking my postprandial cigar on the terrace, wondering how I might tactfully sound the formidable Mrs. Gordon for this information, when she appeared with her niece. Jacqueline was reading a letter from home. Mrs. Gordon held up a jeweled hand impressively, and waved it significantly toward her.

“My dear, will you fetch me my shawl? Pray do not throw away your cigar, Mr. Hume. Be seated. I am anxious to have a talk with you.”

My heart thumped ridiculously. Had Jacqueline confessed to her aunt her love for me?

I professed myself properly at her disposal. She cleared her throat and folded her arms across her ample person. Unconsciously she was assuming the airs of one of the Council of Ten. But that was Mrs. Gordon’s way, and I waited expectantly.

“It is a great pleasure to have you with us, Mr. Hume,” she began with ponderous cordiality.

I hastened to assure her that there was no place more beautiful than Como in April, and looked wistfully after Jacqueline, who had brought the shawl, and was now strolling about the shrubbery.

“You are the only person to whom I can turn in perplexity, that is, while we are here in Italy. 116It so happens that I am sadly in need of advice and information.”

I assured her that I would do all in my power to help her.

“It is with regard to Jacqueline.”

I was careful to show nothing more than a friendly interest. One needed to be wary with the worldly Mrs. Gordon.

“Or, rather, it is with regard to Duke da Sestos.”

“The Duke da Sestos!” I exclaimed, startled. “I can not see, Mrs. Gordon, how a matter touching the Duke da Sestos can affect your niece,” I said after a pause.

“No?” She looked after her niece thoughtfully. “But if I tell you that the duke is in love with her, Mr. Hume?”

“And–and, her feeling toward the duke?”

“I have reason to believe that Jacqueline’s wishes will coincide with mine,” she answered complacently.

Jacqueline’s wishes would coincide with hers! There was little doubt as to what her wishes were. So the worst had really come. I looked out toward the lake, hardly trusting myself to speak. The tender blue of the still waters; the purple mountains; the song of birds; the cries of children; the toll of a church-bell; and Jacqueline, 117in white, slipping through the green trees–everything had charmed me only a moment ago. But now I saw only Jacqueline–not the laughing Jacqueline, my Jacqueline, who waved her hand back at me smiling, but the Duchess da Sestos, neglected wife, scorning her husband, and hating him, doomed to a slow and wretched death in life, sacrificed by this miserable old worldling.

“I could imagine nothing more unfortunate than that she should feel any interest in Duke da Sestos,” I said with feeling.

She looked at me anxiously.

“Do you know anything derogatory to him, Mr. Hume?”

“No,” I answered bluntly, “I know nothing of him.”

She sighed out her relief.

A large person, with an English accent carefully modulated, Mrs. Gordon was not easily moved to anxiety. Her nerves were padded in leather. One could not prick them with anything less formidable than a pitchfork. But my remarks had ruffled her complacency for the moment, that colossal complacency as immense as her wardrobe, and silly and moveless as her pride. But even she would hesitate to encourage the duke’s suit if I could show her it was quite 118impossible. Could I do that? At least, I intended to try.

She pondered a moment. “So you know nothing. But it would not be difficult for you to make inquiries. Understanding Italian life, as you do, living in Venice so long––”

“Make inquiries, Mrs. Gordon?” I interrupted coldly. I should have thought my cool stare would have disconcerted her somewhat.

“And,” she continued frostily (evidently the stare had been wholly in vain, then), “it seems to me that my appeal to you should be received in the light of a duty. You are one of our oldest friends. You ought to have Jacqueline’s interests at heart.”

“God knows I have her interests at heart,” I cried bitterly. “But I fail to see––”

“Of his rank and station,” she continued, waving my protest aside, “I can judge for myself. I am told he is a personal friend of the king. His family antedates the very founding of Venice. I know not how many quarterings his coat of arms may boast. As to his finances, that, naturally, is a serious question. I could not, as a matter of duty, permit myself to ignore that important phase of the case. Still, Jacqueline’s dot, if she has due regard to my wishes, will not make his lack of means an insurmountable 119obstacle. But, Mr. Hume, his character, that is of importance.”

“Yes,” I said significantly, “it is.”

“I do not mean,” she hastened to add, “that–er–he–er–may not have been guilty of some of the indiscretions of youth. That is to be expected of a nobleman of his rank.”

“Then, Mrs. Gordon, may I ask just what you do mean?” I inquired suavely.

“That at least there must have been no scandal, Mr. Hume, no open scandal. I could not permit dear Jacqueline’s position to be in any way equivocal.”

“Your concern as to that is most sensible,” I said sarcastically. “Still, I am in ignorance as to just how I may help you.”

“Really, Mr. Hume, you are strangely heedless of my words. Did I not say a moment ago that I looked to you to make certain inquiries for me?”

“In other words, Mrs. Gordon,” I said coldly, “you are asking me to be your private detective, are you not?”

She held up her hands in horror.

“An office that I can not undertake, even for you or your niece. I can think of no marriage for Jacqueline that could possibly be more distasteful or more disastrous.”

120“If you know nothing about Duke da Sestos, how can you say that his possible marriage with my niece could be a misfortune? I may be very dense, but I fail to follow your reasoning, Mr. Hume.”

“But, Mrs. Gordon,” I said earnestly, “can you not guess something of a man’s character without knowing all about him?”

“If I could,” she answered slowly, “I should say that you do not appear to me to be quite disinterested in your statements.”

“And if that is true, Mrs. Gordon?” I flung away my cigar and my caution. “If I confess that I am not disinterested, as you call it? What then? Say that I love your niece, and I suppose it is right that you should know that. My love for Jacqueline is great enough not to grudge her happiness, even if that happiness is to be with another man. But to see her persuaded into a marriage that every instinct tells me is wrong, that I know must prove unhappy–I can not allow that to be done without a protest, though in making that protest I have betrayed my own love for her. Mrs. Gordon, if I know nothing of Duke da Sestos, I do know something of his class. Can I say nothing that will influence you?”

She gathered her shawl about her, and looked 121at me with stony indifference. I might as well have appealed............