"She may look the Diana," he replied, "but she's very far from a Diana,
believe me, very far indeed."

"I am quite ready to believe it, Mr. Harleston." She lowered her voice.
"I have much to tell you--and," with a quick look at him, "also
something to explain."

"Your explanation is not in the least necessary if it has to do with
anything Mrs. Spencer said."

"Under the circumstances I think I should be frank with you. Mrs.
Spencer said just enough to make you suspect me; then she dropped
it--and half a lie is always more insidious than the full truth."

"My dear Mrs. Clephane," he protested, "I assure you it is not
necessary--"

"Not necessary, if one is in the diplomatic profession," she cut in.
"Murder and assassination both of men and of reputation, seem to be a
portion of this horrible business, and perfectly well recognized as a
legitimate means to effect the end desired. I'm not in it--diplomacy, I
mean,--and I'm mighty thankful I'm not. Mrs. Spencer cold as ice, crafty
as the devil, beautiful as sin, and hard as adamant, knowing her Paris
and London and its scandals--I suppose she must know them in her
profession--instantly recognized me and placed me as Robert Clephane's
wife. For I am his wife--or rather his widow. I lied to her because I
didn't intend that she should have the gratification of seeing her play
win. She sought to distress and disconcert me, and to raise in your mind
a doubt of my motives and my story. It may be legitimate in diplomacy,