C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

“ That the duchess asked me where we would stop in Paris, and I told her at the best there is, of course—Hotel Athenée. She said she 'd wire her friends you 'd run away from, that they could find you there; and if Charretier was n't at Fontainebleau when we passed through, these people would certainly know where to get at him. I warned you the other night, did n't I? that if you would n't be good and confide in me I 'd find out what you refused to tell me yourself; and I have, you see. Clever, aren't I?"
"You 're the hatefullest man I ever heard of!" ”

“ Don't speak too soon. You don't know all yet. If you don't want me to, I won't call on Charretier. Lady T. and her tuft-huntin' can go hang! And you shan't stop at the Athenée to be copped by the Duchess's friends, if you don't like. That 's what I wanted to see you about. To tell you it all depends on yourself."
"How does it depend on myself?" I asked, cautiously.
"All you have to do, to get off scot free is to be a little kind to poor Bertie. You can begin by givin' him a kiss, here in the poetic and what-you-may-call-'em forest of Fontainebleau." ”

“ What do you think of that?"
"That the duchess is a cat," I replied, promptly.
"Most women are."
"In your set, perhaps."
"She said there was a man mixed up with the story, a rich middle-aged chap of the name of Charretier, with a big house in Paris and a new château he 'd built, near Fontainebleau. She gave me a card to him."
"He 's sure not to be at home," I remarked.
Bertie's face fell; but he brightened again. "Anyhow you admit you know him." "One has all sorts of acquaintances," I drawled, with a shrug of my shoulders.
"You 're a sly little kitten—if you 're not a cat. ”