in her drawing-room after the dinner in the _Bella
Napoli_, and again on that second evening when they had dined together
without the company of Beryl Van Tuyn. But Dindie Ackroyde had said he
had come down that day because he had been told he would meet her. And
Dindie was scarcely ever wrong abut people. But this time surely she had
made a mistake.

"Oh, there's the hard court!" Lady Sellingworth said.

"Yes."

"It looks a beauty."

"Do you play?"

"I used to. But I have given it up."

After a silence she added:

"You know I have given up everything. There comes a time--"

She hesitated.

"Perhaps you will not believe it, but I feel very strange here with all
these people."

"But you know them all, don't you?"

"Nearly all. But they mean nothing to me now."

They were walking slowly up and down the long terrace.

"One passes away from things," she said, "as one goes on. It is rather a
horrible feeling."

Suddenly, moved by an impulse that was almost girlish, she stopped on
the path and said:

"What is the matter with you to-day? Why are you angry with me?"

Craven flushed.

"Angry! But I am not angry!"

"Yes, you are. Tell me why."

"How could I--I'm really not angry. As if I could be angry with you!"

"Then why are you so different?"

"In what way am I different?"

She did not answer, but said:

"Did you hear what the baron and I were talking about at lunch?"

"Just a few words."

"I hope you didn't think I wished to join in gossip about Beryl Van
Tuyn?"

"Of course not."

"I hate all such talk. If that offended you--"

She was losing her dignity and knew it, but a great longing to overcome
his rigidity drove her on.

"If you think--"

"It wasn't that!" he said. "I have no reason to mind what anyone says
about Miss Van Tuyn."

"But she's your friend!"

"Is she? I think a friend is a very rare thing. You have taught me
that."

"I? How?"

"You went abroad without letting me know."

"Is that it?" she said.

And there was a strange note, like a note of joy, in her voice.

"I think you might have told me. And you put me off. I was to have seen
you--"

"Yes, I know."

She was silent. She could not explain. That was impossible. Yet she
longed to tell him how much she had wished to see him, how much it had
cost her to go without a word. But suddenly she remembered Camber.
He was angry with her, but he had very soon consoled himself for her
departure.

"I went away q