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There was no mistaking his almost passionate sincerity now, held in check by the man's invincible composure.

But the girl still held aloof, her blue eyes cool and watchful. For the moment her face, in its young hardness, bore a curious resemblance to her father's.

"Is that your question?" she demanded.

The count bowed silently. His lips were pale.

"Then I will tell you!" She spoke in a low voice surcharged with emotion. "I will give you candour for candour, and make an end of all this paltry masquerade."

"That," he murmured, "is what I most desire."

Doris continued, heedless of the interruption. "It is true that I dislike you. I am glad to be able to say it to you, openly. And yet, perhaps, I should use another word. I dislike you and fear you in equal parts. I dislike your secrecy—something dark and hidden within you—and I fear your influence over my father." Her voice faltered over the last word, and she paused.

Lady Dinsmore's cheerful tones broke across the silence.

"Doris," she charged, "you are preaching to the count. He is looking quite sulky and bored."