him, and in her eye he seemed now to detect a malevolent beam.
'You put it clearly, my young man.'
'I don't think you quite realize to whom you are speaking.'
'Mais, mon cher ami,' said the old lady, and her twisted smile distorted the lines of her mouth and the lid of one eye dropped until it covered the iris, 'I speak to a man—tout simplement.'
'I see. All right. You have made a mistake.'
Graham was turning from her, but her next words, spoken with no urgency, no change of tone, arrested his departure. 'I have made no mistake. You are a man, like another. You cannot pretend with me to be a sainte nitouche. You have had your mistresses; and perhaps as many as poor Marthe has had lovers. You cannot face me and tell me that because you have made a happy marriage you are incapable of desiring another woman.'
Graham faced her. 'I am in no humour for confessions. But of one thing you may be assured. Your protégée runs no risk from me. I am not a man to be tempted by a lady of such easy virtue.'
The old lady bowed her head. 'That is well. I thank you.'
And why should Madame de Lamouderie be treated as if she were guilty? He was aware of the question as he left her and the beam of recognized malevolence seemed to answer him. She had been glad to shatter his illusions, and whatever mitigations justice might
