"Mrs. Clephane?" she adjected.

"Exactly: to you, or to Mrs. Clephane?"

"What does that matter to you--since it does not belong to _you_?"

"I may be a friend of Mrs. Clephane? Or I may regard myself as a
trustee for the safe delivery of the letter."

"A volunteer?"

"If you so have it!" he smiled.

She beat a tattoo with her slender, nervous fingers, looking at him in
mild surprise, and some disapproval.

"Since when does sentiment enter the game?" she asked.

"Sentiment?" he inflected. "I wasn't aware of its entry."

She shrugged mockingly. "Beware, old friend and enemy! You're losing
your cleverness. Mrs. Clephane is very charming and alluring, but
remember, Guy, that a charming woman has no place in the diplomatic
game--save to delude the enemy. She seems to be winning with you--who, I
thought, was above all our wiles and blandishments. Oh, do not smile,
sir--I recognize the symptoms; I've played the innocent and the beauty
in distress once or twice myself. It's all in our game--but I'm
shockingly amazed to see it catch so experienced a bird as Guy
Harleston."