Monday, of course, meant the breaking up of the party and the conclusion of Nina's mission. She had done what she could and she was delighted to think that for once in her misguided career she had actually performed a service not wholly selfish.

As Carleigh emerged from the breakfast-room, where he and his aunt were among the last, Lady Bellingdown slipped her arm through his, saying:

"Well, my dear boy, we've done you good, haven't we?"

He glanced back over his shoulder to indicate whom he had in mind—for Nina had come down but a minute before—last of all—and said, smiling: "She's a wonder."

"Isn't she? Doesn't she say the most startling things? She's a bomb made animate."

"One is always wondering what will come next," he declared. "I'm wondering it just now."

As he proposed it himself, he might very easily have foreseen it without waste of speculation. They took a long walk—the last of their series of long walks.

"And now," said lover to loved as they went at swinging pace through the park, the staghound as usual at their heels, "where do you go next?"

"Carfen," she answered. "Just beyond the border of Carlisle."

"I know them," he announced delightedly. "I'll get myself asked."

But Nina shook her head. "Don't," she adjured. "Because if you do, I'll leave."

He stopped short in his stride. "In Heaven's name, why?" he asked, his astonishment and dismay undisguised.

"Because I will not have you ruined with your fiancÉe," was her calm answer.

"My dear girl, I have no fiancÉe. That's all over."

"Oh, no, it isn't."

"Oh, yes, it is."

She freed the hand he had been holding and then slipped it into his again. Then they walked on.

"Love's never over," she observed wisely. "You'll only care the more for her later." Then she raised her eyes and beheld him deeply crimson.

"With me it's all over," he declared in a voice that shook with mingled feelings. "You don't know of what you speak. It couldn't possibly be made up. I couldn't marry her. I couldn't possibly live in the house with—with—" He stopped short.

"It will straighten out," said Nina calmly. "Such things do, you know."

"Not this kind. Wait—look!" He opened his coat, thrust his hand within, and drew a jewel from some hidden pocket. It was a ring which he held out to her.

She took it from him, and her eyes opened very wide. For a brief space she gazed at him pensively and silently.

"Of what are you thinking?" he asked.

"I was wondering if you had it always with you."

"Always."

"Does your man transfer it from one suit to another?"

He had not expected just that question, but he repeated himself.

"Always," he said a bit stiffly, and added: "Do you want it?"

"Her ring?" she cried with an arrogant little laugh. "No, indeed."

He looked at her and then at the ring in her fingers. It was a rather remarkable pearl, surrounded by faintly bluish diamonds.

"Pearls mean tears," she said.

"Then throw it away!" he commanded irritably. "I don't want it, either."

He saw her, without another word, toss it off into the forest mold. In spite of his command he had not expected that. It gave him a start.

"Perhaps the stones were not real," she said lightly. "Were they?"

"Yes," was all that he could answer.

"What an effective bit that would make on the stage," she suggested. "A man bidding a woman throw away a rope of pearls if she would not accept them as a gift from him, and she taking him at his word and pitching them into the sea."

"You are a strange creature," he commented. "Fancy chucking off a ring in that manner!" It was very plain to be seen that he was annoyed.

"I know," she said seriously. "And I'd chuck myself away just as gaily if it were possible to do it completely. I was on the verge of doing it once in India. I thought anything would be better than the things that were."

"Why didn't you, then?"

"I couldn't. I was prevented. My whole life was changed again at that very instant."

"And what happened?"

"The man I was going to chuck myself away on cut his throat."

Carleigh gasped. "Killed himself?"

"Not quite," Nina answered coolly. "He was prevented, too. But he carries the scar. Every time he shaves he must think of me."

"My dear girl," he remonstrated. He was still thinking of the ring. It was of such value that he began to question whether she was quite in her right mind. "You do let one in for thrilling experiences. That I must say."

"Now as then," she admitted, stopping short. "I've been very horrid," turning her head until her eyes looked directly into his. "I'm not just myself to-day. I don't know why I threw your pearl away. Come back with me and I'll pick it up."

"Can you find it, do you think?" he asked, palpably pleased.

"Of course. I threw it on the bare roots. I meant to pick it up on our way back."

He was smiling now, as transparent as any schoolboy. "You are most awfully odd, you know," he said, vastly solaced. "But if we pick it up, you must let me put it on."

"No, no."

"Yes, yes."

"Well, if you insist. But it will mean nothing."

When they reached the spot both looked searchingly about. Carleigh went down on his knees and soiled his sensitive hands delving among the bare roots. Nina tossed aside bits of mold with the toe of her boot. But the ring was not found.

"Never mind; it's been a thrilling experience. You said so yourself," she remarked lightly. "And it isn't every day that a man gets a really new sensation, you know. And that was utterly new to you, I'm sure."

But Carleigh was far from accepting it with the same indifference. He made an effort to appear nonchalant, but throughout the rest of their walk he again and again relapsed into silence. The loss of the ring would not be kept down.

When finally they returned to Bellingdown it was to find the house full of smoke. The party lunched in the murk, choking between bites.

"That chimney always draws badly," her ladyship informed everyone with the utmost calm.

Then all the doors were opened, and they had coffee in the billiard-room.

Carleigh ate no luncheon and drank no coffee.

"They've had trouble," whispered Lady Grey to Kneedrock significantly, as they stood together by one of the billiard-room windows. "See!" she added, pointing. "He's been walking alone. I do wonder if he really did offer himself and if she really did refuse him."

Carleigh came in a few moments later, and he was evidently depressed.

"I'm perfectly sure she refused him," Lady Grey decided. But Kneedrock only shrugged his broad, burly shoulders.

Carleigh had been to search more carefully for the ring. But he had not succeeded. And now it came to him gloomily that should he ever renew his engagement with Rosamond Veynol—of course he had no intention of doing so; but if he ever should—he would have to invent some lie and tell it her.

Still, losing the ring—and losing it under such very unpleasant conditions—was the first circumstance that had ever presented the possibility of a renewal to him in a concrete form.

After he had gone up to his room Nina rose from the deep seat where she had been buried in the current Revue des Deux Mondes, and crossed to where Nibbetts—Charlotte Grey having left him—now stood alone by the window, staring out over the desolate garden.

"I want to speak to you, Hal," she said earnestly, and turning, saw that the others—all in a waiting mood, as they were about to go—were clustered before the fire. "I want to speak to you, seriously," she emphasized, and laid a hand on his arm.

"It's no use, Nina," he returned roughly, shaking off the plaintive hand. "I am the one man you can't cajole. Don't touch me."

But she still stood there, her eyes downcast. "I want to be good, Hal," she declared, her tone all contrition. "You know how hard I try. I'm trying uncommonly hard this time; but he's so tempting.

"Please do me a favor. I'm not asking much. I'm not really. Chain him up, won't you? Don't—oh, don't let him follow me. No good can come of it. He'll never go back to them if I spoil him any more. Interfere. You can if you will. Do—please, do!"

A look of utter disgust spread over the man's face.

"You make me so devilish angry," he growled below his breath. "One expects this kind of thing from men. But not from women."

"Men go a bit further than I do," she rejoined. "But never mind that. I beg you to do something. Disable him, why don't you? It will be a mercy to us all. He isn't strong enough to stand it, you know. Take him away, at least."

Kneedrock hunched his great shoulders. "The weakling!" It was as if the word were an oath. "And you! Weaker still, yet filled to the brim with the very devil."

"I know I'm bad," she said, in the simplest possible way. "But it's not my fault, Hal. It's the spoiled joy that was never allowed. I'm all for love, and I've never had it. That's all."

"Love!" he sneered with bitterest contempt. "What rot for you to speak of love! Poor Darling, with his brains blown out! The silly ass! I wonder he doesn't—" He had meant to say "haunt you," but he stopped short.

"He does," she replied, quite as if he had finished. "But live men do it more. Listen, Hal—rough as you are you've always been very good to me. Only you and I know how good. Be good again. Take him away. Otherwise I can't promise, and—you know I can't marry him."

"Why don't you marry him, damn it?" he asked cruelly.

She looked up into his face wistfully. "Why don't I?" and there was a quaver in her voice. "Ah, why don't I?"

He made no answer.

"Love is the only safeguard that I have," she continued. "If I didn't love—" she paused.

"Couldn't Carleigh hold you to—to something?"

"Nothing could hold me."

"Oh, hell!" growled the honorable viscount with excessive force.

She smiled serenely. "You will get him away, I know. He's such a boy. You'll do that for me, won't you, Hal?"

"His grace's car," announced the butler, quietly. And the duke started up, loquaciously, as usual.

"I say, we must be getting on. Good-by, old man! I have enjoyed myself. Good-by, Lady Bellingdown! Come, Doody! Good-by, Lady Grey! Come, Doody! Good-by, Wally! Good-by, Nibbetts! Good-by! Good-by! Good-by! I say, Doody, we must be getting on."

For answer to Nina's question, Kneedrock turned on his heel and strolled after the departing duke and duchess.

Later the viscount came upon Carleigh in the smoking-room.

"I'm glad of this," he said, taking a chair near him. "I want to talk with you. I suppose you've said good-by to Mrs. Darling."

Sir Caryll was looking white and disturbed. "I didn't see her," he returned a little thickly. "I'd no idea she was leaving so soon."

"That's her way," Kneedrock made clear. "It isn't polite, or kind, or considerate. But it's her way. I don't know why others put up with it, I'm sure. It's enough that I know why I do."

Carleigh didn't seem to be listening.

"She asked me to say something to you," the other man went on, picking up a copy of the Tatler and fingering its leaves. "Something rather nasty. But I said that I'd say it." He could lie perfectly.

"Something rather nasty?" repeated Sir Caryll, staring.

It happened fortunately that they were quite alone.

"Yes"—Kneedrock nodded—"just that. She wants me to carry you off. You see she's singular when it comes to men. She likes new ones. Nothing like the Tour de Nesle, of course; but just the novelty of the open play amuses her. You see, you have had your turn. That's the long and short of it. She's tired. She wants you to go away."

For a little Carleigh seemed turned to stone. "But she's gone herself," he said finally.

"Oh, yes. Of course she's gone. But you'll follow. Everybody does. I did. And she doesn't want that."

"How do you know?"

"She told me she doesn't. Besides, I know Mrs. Darling. Come, now, you'd better regard her wishes. I've a box of my own six miles from here, and I'm starting in a few minutes. Say you'll join me. I'll tell you some things, and it will be your salvation."

He paused and waited, but the younger man was still dazed.

"You'll make that other affair straight and marry some day if you break this off while you can. But if you don't stop you'll damage yourself badly. Take my word."

"And she asked you to say this to me?" It was an awful blow to the young baronet's pride. He couldn't quite believe it.

"She did. And it's nothing new for me, either. I'm quite used to saying this sort of thing to friends of hers. It's an old story.

"They had her down to divert your mind and bring you to your senses. She's done it, and now she's through. She's bothered with you until she's tired. A man doesn't last her very long."

Sir Caryll's face turned quickly crimson purple. "I've bored her, you mean?" he questioned in a tone of scorching outrage.

"Well, yes, since you put it that way," answered Kneedrock. "Or, perhaps, she's getting too fond of you. We'll never know the truth. No one knows the truth about a single thing in connection with her."

He held up his left hand and showed a nasty scar near the wrist between thumb and forefinger.

"Nobody knows just how I happened to get that, for example, except her. Nobody knows about her husband's death. I know that I'm generally supposed to have shot him. But I didn't. I wouldn't shoot a husband—too risky business nowadays. Autres temps, autres moeurs."

"Good God!" cried Caryll Carleigh.

"I don't blame you," the honorable viscount said with a sympathetic emphasis that was most unusual for him. "I know how rough it is for you just after your other scrape. But women are made that way."

The younger man lifted his eyes in appeal to the elder.

"Do you understand her, or anything about her?" he asked with pathetic simplicity.

Kneedrock shook his head.

"Come with me," he urged, putting down his paper as he spoke. "Come with me. I'll put you up for a couple of days and you can think it over."

"The duchess has asked me to Puddlewood on Thursday," came the reply, a bit heavily.

"That will be quite all right. Fits in fine."

There was a little pause and Sir Caryll got up and moved uneasily toward the window. There, with his back turned, he halted, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot and pulling at his mustache.

"It's no use," Kneedrock flung after him. "No use at all. She will never marry. She will never marry any one. She couldn't put up with it, don't you know."

Carleigh turned sharply about. "Did she ever kiss you?" he cried. "Could you forget it?"

"Kiss me!" calmly and indifferently. "My dear boy, of course she did. She thinks no more of kisses than other women do of touching finger-tips and saying: 'How are you?' She doesn't take osculation seriously, old chap."

Then there was another pause.

At its end Carleigh, speaking very low, said: "Thanks, my dear fellow. You've done your best and I'm grateful. But—I think I'll follow her."

And he did.