There was an uncomfortable pause; then Julie resumed, in another tone: 

“But what I am now chiefly anxious to discuss is, how can we save Lady Henry from any further pain or annoyance?  She once said to me in a fit of anger that if I left her in consequence of a quarrel, and any of her old friends sided with me, she would never see them again.”

“I know,” said the Duke, sharply.  “Her salon will break up.  She already foresees it.”

“But why?—­why?” cried Julie, in a most becoming distress.  “Somehow, we must prevent it.  Unfortunately I must live in London.  I have the offer of work here—­journalist’s work which cannot be done in the country or abroad.  But I would do all I could to shield Lady Henry.”

“What about Mr. Montresor?” said the Duke, abruptly.  Montresor had been the well-known Chateaubriand to Lady Henry’s Madame Recamier for more than a generation.

Julie turned to him with eagerness.

“Mr. Montresor wrote to me early this morning.  The letter reached me at breakfast.  In Mrs. Montresor’s name and his own, he asked me to stay with them till my plans developed.  He—­he was kind enough to say he felt himself partly responsible for last night.”

“And you replied?” The Duke eyed her keenly.

Julie sighed and looked down.

“I begged him not to think any more of me in the matter, but to write at once to Lady Henry.  I hope he has done so.”

“And so you refused—­excuse these questions—­Mrs. Montresor’s invitation?”

The working of the Duke’s mind was revealed in his drawn and puzzled brows.

“Certainly.”  The speaker looked at him with surprise.  “Lady Henry would never have forgiven that.  It could not be thought of.  Lord Lackington also”—­but her voice wavered.

“Yes?” said the Duchess, eagerly, throwing herself on a stool at Julie’s feet and looking up into her face.

“He, too, has written to me.  He wants to help me.  But—­I can’t let him.”

The words ended in a whisper.  She leaned back in her chair, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.  It was very quietly done, and very touching.  The Duchess threw a lightning glance at her husband; and then, possessing herself of one of Julie’s hands, she kissed it and murmured over it.

“Was there ever such a situation?” thought the Duke, much shaken.  “And she has already, if Evelyn is to be believed, refused the chance—­the practical certainty—­of being Duchess of Chudleigh!”

He was a man with whom a gran rifiuto of this kind weighed heavily.  His moral sense exacted such things rather of other people than himself.  But, when made, he could appreciate them.

After a few turns up and down the room, he walked up to the two women.

“Miss Le Breton,” he said, in a far more hurried tone than was usual to him, “I cannot approve—­and Evelyn ought not to approve—­of much that has taken place during your residence with Lady Henry.  But I understand that your post was not an easy one, and I recognize the forbearance of your present attitude.  Evelyn is much distressed about it all.  On the understanding that you will do what you can to soften this breach for Lady Henry, I shall be, glad if you will allow me to come partially to your assistance.”