"It's a pity you were not with us on the _Lusitania_, Mr.Steingall, or you would realize that when John D.rears up on his hind legs, and talks like that, there is nothing more to be said." "Is Lady Hermione a pretty girl ?" demanded Mrs.Curtis eagerly.

Her democratic soul was rejoicing in the discovery that her nephew's wife did not lose her title because of the marriage.

Of course, no one ever before heard of such folly as this matrimonial leap in the dark, but, once taken, there was satisfaction in the thought that the bride was an earl's daughter.

Moreover, she had read of such queer goings on among the British Aristocracy that a wedding at sight was a comparatively venial offense.
Curtis assured his aunt that Hermione was the most beautiful and fascinating person he had ever met, and Steingall listened to the eulogy with a grinning rictus of jaw.

In the whole course of his professional experience he had never encountered anything on a par with this capricious blend of comedy and tragedy.
Of course, it did not escape his acute brain that Curtis was right in assuming that the _clou_ of the situation lay with Jean de Courtois.
Dead or alive, the Frenchman must be found, and found quickly.