“No, no!” she cried, “it is simply out of the question. The secret is not mine, but my father's.”

“Then let me go to Lord Penshurst,” urged Westerham.

The girl started and thought for a few minutes before she answered. “No,” she said at last, slowly, “you must not do that. He would not understand.”

“You mean,” said Westerham, “he would merely regard me as one who might be termed ‘one of the gang.’”

The girl nodded.

“But I assure you,” Westerham laughed, “that I am not.”

To his surprise the girl looked him straight in the face. “I wish I felt quite sure,” she said.

Westerham flushed with almost a flush of anger.

“This,” he cried,[Pg 86] “is an intolerable situation. If you would only confide in me I would confide in you.

[Pg 86]

“I am not what I seem. I am no mere man-about-town. I am not one of Melun's dupes. I am not of a certainty one of his friends—even though I may appear to be associated with him.

“I am a very different man indeed from what I fancy you take me for. My resources are practically limitless, and without boasting I may say that I hold Melun in the hollow of my hand.”

Again, to his surprise, Kathleen gave him the same keen look of suspicion.

“I fear no consequence as the result of what I will tell you,” she said quietly, “but Melun declares that you are merely an American confederate.”

“Good Heavens!” cried Westerham, and so great was the sincerity of his tones that Lady Kathleen's face softened.

“But perhaps you are not. I wish I knew.”

She buried her face in her hands and rocked to and fro in her distress.

“If I tell you who I am,” cried Westerham, stung to desperation, “am I not right in thinking that you would tell your father?”

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