“And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. “Can you not understand? It is of no use your taking my identity and all the burden of my iniquities upon your dear shoulders if I am to be recognized the moment I show my face in London. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England. ’” “Yes?” “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. "Where did you pick it up?" "I believe I told you; at Yale.
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