ds and the opportune time for the inevitable struggle.
He is the worst enemy to-day England has. You think that he is here in
Monte Carlo on a visit of pleasure--for the sake of his wife, perhaps.
Nothing of the sort! He is here at this moment associated with an
iniquitous scheme, the particulars of which I can tell you nothing of.
Furthermore, I repeat what I told you on our first meeting here--that in
his still, cold way he is in love with you."

"Henry!" she cried.

"I cannot see how you can remain so wilfully blind," Hunterleys
continued. "I know the man inside out. I warned you against him in
London, I warn you against him now. This forged letter was designed to
draw us further apart. The little brown man who has dogged your
footsteps is a spy employed by him to make you believe that I was having
you watched. You are free still to act as you will, Violet, but if you
have a spark of regard for me or yourself, you will go back to London at
once and drop this odious friendship."

She leaned back in the car. They had turned round now and were on the
way back to Monte Carlo by the higher road. She sat with her eyes fixed
upon the mountains. Her heart, in a way, had been touched, her
imagination stirred by her husband's words. She felt a return of that
glow of admiration which had thrilled her on the previous night, when he
and Richard Lane alone amongst that motley company had played the part
of men. A curious, almost pathetic wistfulness crept into her heart. If
only he would lean towards her at that moment, if she could see once
more the light in his eyes that had shone there during the days of their
courtship! If only he could remember that it was still his part to play
the lover! If he could be a little less grave, a little less hopelessly
correct and fair! Despite her efforts to disbelieve, there was something
convincing about his words. At any moment during that brief space of
time, a single tremulous word, even a warm clasp of the hand, would have
brought her into his arms. But so much of inspiration was denied him. He
sat waiting for her decision with an eagerness of which he gave no sign.
Nevertheless, the fates were fighting for him. She thought gratefully,
even at that moment, yet with less enthusiasm than ever before, of the
devout homage, the delightful care for her happiness and comfort, the
atmosphere of security with which Draconmeyer seemed always to surround
her. Yet all this was cold and unsatisfyin