“The next night,” he continued, “you were dining with the same man again, only this time he did not go back with you to Coniston Mansions.  I did, and before I left you, you had promised to be my wife.  You warned me to ask you no questions, and I didn’t.  I know as little of you now as I did on the steamer.  I know that this man Norris Vine has a flat within a few yards of yours, and in the same building, but I ask no questions.  I think that you must certainly acquit me of anything in the shape of undue curiosity.  I was content to know that I had fallen in love with the sweetest little girl I had ever set eyes on.”

She pressed his hand and sighed.

“Guy, you’re a dear!” she said.

“It was quite sufficient for me,” he continued, “that you are what you are.  It is sufficient for me even now.  The trouble is that it won’t be sufficient for everybody.  You can see that for yourself, dear, can’t you?”

Virginia drew a little away.  He fancied that the hand which still rested in his was growing colder.

“I suppose so,” she murmured.

“I am glad you realize that,” Guy said earnestly.  “Now look here, Virginia.  You saw the line my aunt took.  There’s no doubt that from a certain point of view she’s right.  I wonder whether, under the circumstances, it would be better”—­he hesitated, and looked at her for a moment—­“better—­you see what I mean, don’t you?”

“I am not quite sure,” she said.  “Hadn’t you better tell me?”

Guy looked at her in surprise.

“Why, that was just what I thought I had done,” he declared.  “What I mean is that after all, although for my own sake I wouldn’t ask a question, it might be as well for you to tell my aunt what she wants to know.  It would make things much more comfortable.”

“I think you are quite right,” Virginia said softly.

Guy stooped and kissed her.

“Dear little lady!” he declared.  “I’ll go and tell her, and bring her back.”

He found his aunt descending the stairs, but when they reached the morning-room it was empty.  Guy looked around in surprise, and stepped out into the hall.  Jameson hurried up to him.

“The young lady has just gone, sir,” he said deferentially.  “I called a hansom for her myself.  She seemed rather in a hurry.”

Guy stood for a moment motionless.

“Do you happen to remember the address she gave you?” he asked the man.

“I am sorry, your Grace.  I did not hear it.”

Lady Medlincourt opened the door of the morning-room.

“I think, Guy,” she said, “you had better come in and talk to me.”

CHAPTER XIV

ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE