letter from home. Mrs. Gordon held up a jeweled hand impressively, and waved it significantly toward her.

115

“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.”

116

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 

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