The Malefactor HTML version

II.7. Spreading The Nets
"By the bye," the Marchioness asked him, "have you a Christian name?"
"Sorry," Wingrave answered, "if I ever had, I've forgotten it."
"Then I must call you Wingrave," she remarked. "I hate calling anyone I know decently
well Mr. anything."
"Charmed," Wingrave answered; "it isn't a bad name."
"It isn't," she admitted. "By the bye," she continued, looking at him critically, "you are
rather a surprising person, aren't you?"
"Glad you've found it out," Wingrave answered. "I always thought so."
"One associates all sorts of terrible things with millionaires--especially African and
American ones," she remarked. "Now you could pass anywhere for the ordinary sort of
decent person."
Wingrave nodded.
"I was told the other day," he remarked reflectively, "that if I would only cultivate two
things, I might almost pass as a member of the English aristocracy."
"What were they?" she asked rashly.
"Ignorance and impertinence," he answered.
The Marchioness was silent for a moment. There was a little more color than usual in her
beautiful cheeks and a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
"You can go home, Mr. Wingrave," she said.
He rose to his feet imperturbably. The Marchioness stretched out a long white hand and
gently forced him back again.
"You mustn't talk like that to me," she said quietly. "I am sensitive."
He bowed.
"A privilege, I believe, of your order," he remarked.