ADELA SELLINGWORTH.

"What is it? What has happened?" Craven thought, as he put down the
letter.

He felt that some drama had been played out, or partially played out,
within the last days which he did not understand, which he was not
allowed to understand. Lady Sellingworth chose to keep him in the
dark. Well, she had the right to do that. As he thought over things he
realized that the heat in the restaurant could certainly not have been
the sole reason of her strange conduct on the night when they had dined
together. Something had upset her mentally. A physical reason only could
not account for her behaviour. And again he thought of Arabian.

Instinctively he hated the man. Who was he? Where did he come from?
Craven could not place him. Beyond feeling sure that he was a "wrong
'un" Craven had no very definite opinion about him. He was well dressed,
good looking--too good looking--and no doubt knew how to behave. He
might even possibly be a gentleman of sorts, come to England from some
exotic land where the breed of gentleman was quite different from that
which prevailed in England. But he was surely a beast. Craven detested
his good looks, loathed his large and lustrous brown eyes. He was the
sort of beast who did nothing but make up to women. Something inherently
clean in Craven rejected the fellow, wished to drive him into outer
darkness.

Could Lady Sellingworth know such a man?

That seemed quite impossible. Nevertheless, certain things persistently
suggested to Craven that at least she had some knowledge of Arabian
which she was deliberately concealing from him. The most salient of
these things was her reiterated attempt to push him into the company of
Beryl Van Tuyn. It was impossible not to think that Lady Sellingworth
wished him to interfere between Beryl Van Tuyn and Arabian. On the night
of the dinner in Soho she had attempted to persuade him to go back to
the restaurant and to see Beryl home. And now here in this letter she
returned to the matter.

"Be nice to her. I don't think she has many real friends in London."

"Go to see Beryl; don't come to see me."

Between the lines of Lady Sellingworth's letter Craven read those words
and wondered at the ways of women. But he did not mean to obey the
unwritten command. And he felt angry with Lady Sellingworth for giving
it by implication. She might have what she considered a good reason for
her extraordinary behaviour. But as she did not allow him to