“I’ve been talking to her,” Blondin said.  His companion looked at him sharply, and after a second he laughed.  “There is just one chance in the world that I might make that little girl extremely happy!” he said.

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Harriet said again, impatiently.

“Is it nonsense?” he asked, smiling.

“It’s—­preposterous!”

“I suppose,” the man drawled, “that that is a question for the young lady, and her parents, and myself, to decide.”

“You suppose nothing of the sort!” Harriet said, sensibly, without wasting a glance upon him.  And she added in scorn, “I doubt very much if it’s possible!”

“Very probably it isn’t,” he conceded, amiably.  “I seem middle-aged to her.  I—­”

“You are thirty-eight,” Harriet said.

“Exactly!  But—­don’t forget!—­I shall have the field to myself.  The mother won’t interfere.  Of the grandmother I have my doubts, but if the father is like the usual American male parent, he will give the girl her head!”

Harriet bit her lip.  This was utterly unexpected.  Into her calculations, up to this point, she had taken only Royal Blondin and herself.  If this casual hint covered any truth, then the matter did not stop there.  Nina was involved, and with Nina, Ward and Nina’s father and Isabelle—­

The complications were endless; her heart sickened before them.  For she read Nina’s susceptible vanity as truly as he, and she knew besides, what he did not know, that the formidable-appearing grandmother was secretly a little piqued at Nina’s lack of masculine attention, and would probably further any romantic absurdity on the girl’s part with all her determined old soul.  Nina adored at eighteen by the much-talked-of poet; Nina, young and gauche perhaps, but married, and entertaining guests in her husband’s studio, would be a Nina far more satisfying to her grandmother than the bread-and-butter Nina of to-day.

And yet, the conviction that Royal dared not betray her had been flooding Harriet’s heart with exquisite reassurance during this past half hour.  She was safe; her life at Crownlands took on a new and wonderful beauty with that knowledge.  And if she was fit to continue there, Nina’s companion, Isabelle’s confidante, guide and judge for the whole household, could she with any logic warn them against this man?

He had her trapped, and she saw it.  If she was to have her safety, as all this talk implied, then she must give him the same tacit assurance.  To threaten his standing was to wreck her own.

“Don’t make a tragedy of it,” Royal, watching her narrowly, interrupted her thoughts to say lightly.  “The girl will marry where she pleases.  She makes her own choice.  If I can make the right impression on her and convince her father and mother that I am fit for her, why, it isn’t your affair!”