“Will you pardon me,” Borrowdean asked, “if I make a remark which may sound a little impertinent?  You and Mannering were great friends at Blakely.  On my first visit there you will remember that you did not attempt to conceal that there was more than an ordinary intimacy between you.  Yet to-day I notice that there are indications on both your parts of a desire to avoid one another as much as possible.  It seems to me a pity that you two should not be friends.  Is there any small misunderstanding which a common friend—­such as I trust I may call myself—­might help to smooth away?”

Berenice regarded him thoughtfully.

“It is strange,” she said, “that you should talk to me like this, you who are certainly responsible for any estrangement there may be between Mr. Mannering and myself.  Please answer me this question.  Why do you wish us to be friends?”

Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders.

“You and he and myself, with about a dozen others,” he answered, “form the backbone of a political party.  As time goes on we shall in all probability be drawn closer and closer together.  It seems to me best that our alliance should be as real a thing as possible.”

Berenice smiled.

“Rather a sentimental attitude for you, Sir Leslie,” she remarked.  “Have you ever considered the fact that any coolness there may be between Lawrence Mannering and myself is entirely due to you?”

“To me!” he exclaimed.

“Exactly!  At Blakely we were on terms of the most intimate friendship.  I had grown to like and respect him more than any man I had ever met.  I don’t know exactly why I should take you so far into my confidence, but I am inclined to do so.  Our friendship seemed likely to develop into—­other things.”

“My dear Duchess—­”

“Don’t interrupt me!  I have an idea that you were perfectly aware of it.  Perhaps it did not suit your plans.  At any rate, you made statements to me concerning him which, as you very well knew, were likely to alter my entire opinion of him.  I had an idea that there was some code of honour between men which kept them from discussing the private life of their friends with a woman.  You seem to have been troubled with no such scruples.  You told me things about Lawrence Mannering which made it absolutely necessary that I should hear them confirmed or denied from his own lips.”

“You would rather have remained in ignorance, then?” he asked.

“I would rather have remained in ignorance,” she repeated, calmly.  “Don’t flatter yourself, Sir Leslie, that a woman ever has any real gratitude in her heart for the person who, out of friendship, or some other motive, destroys her ideals.  I should have married Lawrence Mannering if you had not spoken.”

Borrowdean was silent.  In his heart he was thinking how nearly one of the most cherished schemes of his life had gone awry.

“I am afraid, then,” he said, “that even at the risk of your further displeasure I have no regrets to offer you.”