. "I have told you he is unworthy of your
friendship," he said. "Let that be enough."

"That's not enough," said Dot. "I think otherwise."

He bit his lip. "Well, if you must have it--so did Lady Carfax till she
found out her mistake."

"Lady Carfax!" Dot's face changed. "What about Lady Carfax?"

"She gave him her friendship," Bertie told her grimly, "and he rewarded
her with about as foul a trick as any man could conceive. You heard the
story of the motor breaking down that day in the summer when he took her
for a ride? It was nothing but an infernal trick. He wanted to get her
for himself, and it wasn't his fault that he failed. It was in
consequence of that that Lucas sent him away."

"Oh!" said Dot. "He was in love with her then!"

"If you call it love," said Bertie. "He is always in love with someone."

Dot's eyes expressed enlightenment. She seemed to have forgotten their
difference of opinion. "So that was why he was so cut up," she said. "Of
course--of course! I was a donkey not to think of it. What a mercy Sir
Giles is dead! Has anyone written to tell him?"

"No," said Bertie shortly.

"But why not? Surely he has a right to know? Lady Carfax herself
might wish it."

"Lady Carfax would be thankful to forget his very existence," said
Bertie, with conviction.

"My dear boy, how can you possibly tell? Are you one of those misguided
male creatures who profess to understand women?"

"I know that Lady Carfax loathes the very thought of him," Bertie
maintained. "She is not a woman to forgive and forget very easily.
Moreover, as I told you before, no one knows where he is."

"I see," said Dot thoughtfully. "But surely he has a club somewhere?"

"Yes, he belongs to the Phoenix Club, New York, if they haven't kicked
him out. But what of that? I'm not going to write to him. I don't want
him back, Heaven knows." There was a fighting note in Bertie's voice. He
spoke as if prepared to resist to the uttermost any sudden attack upon
his resolution.

But Dot attempted none; she abandoned the argument quite suddenly, and
nestled against his breast. "Darling, don't let's talk about it any
more! It's a subject upon which we can't agree. And I'm sorry I've been
so horrid to you. I know it isn't my fault that we haven't
quarrelled. Forgive me, dear, and keep on loving me. You do love me,
don't you, Bertie?"

"Sweetheart!" he whispered, holding her closely.

She uttered a little muffled laugh. "That's my own boy!