me back to my hotel?” she asked pointedly.
“I regret that I cannot,” he answered. “I have promised to show Felix some of the wonders of New York by night.”
“You can take him to-morrow.”
“To-morrow,” Mr. Sabin said, “he leaves for the West.”
She looked closely into his impassive face.
“I suppose that you are lying,” she said shortly.
“Your candour,” he answered coldly, “sometimes approaches brutality.”
She leaned towards him, her face suddenly softened.
“We are playing a foolish game with one another,” she murmured. “I offer you an alliance, my friendship, perhaps my help.”
“What can I do,” he answered gravely, “save be grateful—and accept?”
“Then—”
She stopped short. It was Mr. Sabin’s luck which had intervened. Herbert Daikeith stood at her elbow.
“Lady Carey,” he said, “they’re all gone but the mater and I. Forgive my interrupting you,” he added hastily.
“You can go on, Herbert,” she added. “The Duc de Souspennier will bring me.”
Mr. Sabin, who had no intention of doing anything of the sort, turned towards the young man with a smile.
“Lady Carey has not introduced us,” he said, “but I have seen you at Ranelagh quite often. If you are still keen on polo you should have a try over here. I fancy you would find that these American youngsters can hold their own. All right, Felix, I am ready now. Lady Carey, I shall do myself the honour of waiting upon you early to-morrow morning, as I have a little excursion to propose. Good-night.”
She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly as she turned away. Mr. Sabin smiled—faintly amused. He turned to Felix.
“Come,” he said,
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