Pretender? A mere figure for the front page of illustrated papers."'
"I never think of him," I said curtly, "but I suppose Dona Rita's feelings, instincts, call it what you like--or only her chivalrous fidelity to her mistakes--"
"Dona Rita's presence here in this town, her withdrawal from the possible complications of her life in Paris has produced an excellent effect on my son. It simplifies infinite difficulties, I mean moral as well as material. It's extremely to the advantage of her dignity, of her future, and of her peace of mind. But I am thinking, of course, mainly of my son. He is most exacting."
I felt extremely sick at heart. "And so I am to drop everything and vanish," I said, rising from my chair again. And this time Mrs. Blunt got up, too, with a lofty and inflexible manner but she didn't dismiss me yet.
"Yes," she said distinctly. "All this, my dear Monsieur George, is such an accident. What have you got to do here? You look to me like somebody who would find adventures wherever he went as interesting and perhaps less dangerous than this one."
She slurred over the word dangerous but I picked it up.
"What do you know of its dangers, Madame, may I ask?" But she did not condescend to hear.
"And then you, too, have your chivalrous feelings," she went on, unswerving, distinct, and tranquil. "You are not absurd. But my son is. He would shut her up in a convent for a time if he could."
"He isn't the only one," I muttered.
"Indeed!" she was startled, then lower, "Yes. That woman must be the centre of all sorts of passions," she
