“I have come over with the Dalkeiths, ostensibly to see the yacht races. Really I have come to see you.”      

       Mr. Sabin bowed.     

       “I am delightfully flattered,” he murmured.     

       “I don’t exactly mean for the pleasure of gazing into your face once more,” she continued. “I have a mission!”      

       Mr. Sabin looked up quickly.     

       “Great heavens! You, too!” he exclaimed.     

       She nodded.     

       “Why not?” she asked coolly. “I have been in it for years, you know, and when I got back from South Africa everything seemed so terribly slow that I begged for some work to do.”      

       “And they sent you here—to me?”      

       “Yes,” she answered, “and I was here also a few weeks ago, but you must not ask me anything about that.”      

       Mr. Sabin’s eyebrows contracted, his face darkened. She shrank a little away from him.     

       “So it is you who have robbed me of her, then,” he said slowly. “Yes, the description fits you well enough. I ask you, Lady Carey, to remember the last time when chance brought you and me together. Have I deserved this from you?”      

       She made a little gesture of impotence.     

       “Do be reasonable!” she begged. “What choice had I?”      

       He looked at her steadfastly.     

       “The folly of women—of clever women such as you,” he said, “is absolutely amazing. You have deliberately made a slave of yourself—”      

       “One must have distraction,” she murmured.     

       “Distraction! And so you play at this sort of thing. Is it worth while?”      

       Her eyes for a moment clouded over with weariness.     

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