“I hope so.  We must have patience—­and still more patience,” urged the mysterious man as he stood in the full light of the brilliant moon.  “I have here a letter for you which Mr. Henfrey wrote a week ago.  It only came into my hands yesterday.”  And he gave her an envelope.

“Tell me something about this woman, Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo.  Who is she?” asked Dorise excitedly.

“Well—­she is a person who was notorious at the Rooms, as you yourself know.  You have seen her.”

“And tell me, why do you take such an interest in Hugh?” inquired the girl, not without a note of suspicion in her voice.

“For reasons best known to myself, Miss Ranscomb.  Reasons which are personal.”

“That’s hardly a satisfactory reply.”

“I fear I can give few satisfactory replies until we succeed in ascertaining the truth of what occurred at the Villa Amette,” he said.  “I must urge you, Miss Ranscomb, to remain patient, and—­and not to lose faith in the man who is wrongfully accused.”

“But when can I see him?” asked Dorise eagerly.

“Soon.  But you must be discreet—­and you must ask no questions.  Just place yourself in my hands—­that is, if you can trust me.”

“I do, even though I am ignorant of your name.”

“It is best that you remain in ignorance,” was his reply.  “Otherwise perhaps you would hesitate to trust me.”

“Why?”

But the tall, good-looking man only laughed, and then he said: 

“My name really doesn’t matter at present.  Later, Miss Ranscomb, you will no doubt know it.  I am only acting in the interests of Henfrey.”

Again she looked at him.  His face was smiling, and yet was sphinx-like in the moonlight.  His voice was certainly that of the white cavalier which she recollected so well, but his personality, so strongly marked, was a little overbearing.

“I know you mistrust me,” he went on.  “If I were in your place I certainly should do so.  A thousand pities it is that I cannot tell you who I am.  But—­well—­I tell you in confidence that I dare not!”

“Dare not!  Of what are you afraid?” inquired Dorise.  The man she had met under such romantic circumstances interested her keenly.  He was Hugh’s go-between.  Poor Hugh!  She knew he was suffering severely in his loneliness, and his incapability to clear himself of the terrible stigma upon him.

“I’m afraid of several things,” replied the white cavalier.  “The greatest fear I have is that you may not believe in me.”

“I do believe in you,” declared the girl.

“Excellent!” he replied enthusiastically.  “Then let us get to business—­pardon me for putting it so.  But I am, after all, a business man.  I am interested in a lot of different businesses, you see.”

“Of what character?”

“No, Miss Ranscomb.  That is another point upon which I regret that I cannot satisfy your pardonable curiosity.  Please allow your mind to rest upon the one main point—­that I am acting in the interests of the man with—­the man who is, I believe, your greatest and most intimate friend.”