“And to-morrow will be too late,” she added, rapidly pursuing his train of thought.  “Then I will try the Duchess!”

He started very slightly, but she saw it.

“Sit down for a moment, Mrs. Mannering,” he said.

She accepted the chair he placed for her.  There was a distinct change in his manner.  He realized that this woman held a trump card against him.  Even in her hands it might mean disaster.

“Blanche—­” he began.

“Thank you,” she interrupted, “I prefer ‘Mrs. Mannering.’”

He bit his lips in annoyance.

“Mrs. Mannering, then,” he continued, “we have been allies before, and I think that you will admit that I have always kept faith with you.  I don’t see any reason why we should play at being enemies.  You have a price, I suppose, for that telegram and your silence.  Name it.”

She nodded.

“Yes, I have a price,” she admitted.

“Remember that, after all, this is not a great issue,” he said.  “If your husband does not get in for Leeds he will probably find a seat somewhere else.”

“That is false,” she answered, “If your man Polden publishes Parkins’s story my husband’s political career is over, and you know it.  Do keep as near to the truth as you can.”

“I will give you,” he said, “five hundred pounds for that telegram and your silence.”

She rose slowly to her feet.  A dull flush of colour mounted almost to her eyes.  Borrowdean watched her anxiously.  Then for a moment came an interruption.  The Duchess was descending the grey stone steps from the hotel.

She had addressed some word of greeting to them.  They both turned towards her.  She wore a white serge dress, and she carried a white lace parasol over her bare head.  She moved towards them with her usual languid grace, followed by her maid carrying a tiny Maltese dog and a budget of letters.  The loiterrers in the courtyard stared at her with admiration.  It was impossible to mistake her for anything but a great lady.

“You have the air of conspirators, you two!” she said, as she approached them.  “Is it an expedition for the day that you are planning?”

Blanche Mannering turned her back upon Borrowdean.

“Sir Leslie,” she said, “has just offered me five hundred pounds for a telegram which I have here and for my silence concerning its contents.  I was wondering whether he had bid high enough.”

The Duchess looked from one to the other.  She almost permitted herself to be astonished.  Borrowdean’s face was dark with anger.  Blanche Mannering’s apparent calmness was obviously of the surface only.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Miserably so!” Blanche answered.  “Sir Leslie has strange ideas of honour, I find.  He is making use of a story which I told him once concerning my husband, to drive him out of political life.  Duchess, will you do me the favour to let me talk with you for five minutes, and to make Sir Leslie Borrowdean promise not to leave this hotel till you have seen him again?”