It was natural I should come to a ball given by my wife's sister, whose husband is my cousin.

No one knows of this interview of ours: I believe I may make my mind easy on that score, at least.

And it is equally natural that you should start on business or pleasure of your own, for Paris to-morrow morning; also that you should meet Mademoiselle de Renzie there." "Mademoiselle de Renzie!" exclaimed Ivor, off his guard for an instant, and showing plainly that he was taken aback.
"Isn't she a friend of yours ?" asked the Foreign Secretary rather sharply.

Though I couldn't see him, I knew exactly how he would be looking at Ivor, his keen grey eyes narrowed, his clean-shaven lips drawn in, the long, well-shaped hand, of which he is said to be vain, toying with the pale Malmaison pink he always wears in his buttonhole.
"Yes, she is a friend of mine," Ivor answered.

"But--" "A 'but' already! Perhaps I'd better tell you that the mission has to do with Mademoiselle de Renzie, and, directly, with no one else.