"James, I want you to take me home."

"Home? You mean . . . Castle Raa?"

"Y-es."

He hesitated, and I began to plead with him, earnestly and eagerly, not
to deny me what I asked.

"Take me home, I beg, I pray."

At length, seeming to think I must be homesick, he said:

"Well, you know my views about that God-forsaken place, but the season's
nearly at an end, and I don't mind going back on one condition--that you
raise no objection to my inviting a few friends to liven it up a bit?"

"It is your house," I said. "You must do as you please in it."

"Very good; that's settled," he said, getting up to go. "And I dare say
it will do you no harm to be out of the way of all this church-going and
confessing to priests, who are always depressing people even when
they're not making mischief."

Hardly had my husband left me when Alma came into my sitting-room in the
most affectionate and insincere of her moods.

"My poor, dear sweet child," she said. "If I'd had the least idea you
were feeling so badly I shouldn't have allowed Jimmy to stay another
minute at that tiresome reception. But how good it was of Mr. Conrad to
come all that way to see you! That's what I call being a friend now!"

Then came the real object of her visit--I saw it coming.

"I hear you're to have a house-party at Castle Raa. Jimmy's in his room
writing piles of invitations. He has asked me and I should love to go,
but of course I cannot do so without _you_ wish it. Do you?"

What could I say? What I _did_ say I scarcely know. I only know that at
the next minute Alma's arms were round my neck, and she was saying:

"You dear, sweet, unselfish little soul! Come let me kiss you."

It was done. I had committed myself. After all what right had I to raise
myself on a moral pinnacle now? And what did it matter, anyway? I was
flying from the danger of my own infidelities, not to save my husband
from his.

Price had been in the room during this interview and when it was over I
was ashamed to look at her.

"I can't understand you, my lady; I really can't," she said.

Next day I wrote a little letter to Martin on the _Scotia_ telling him
of our change of plans, but forbidding him to trouble to come up to say
good-bye, yet half hoping he would disregard my injunction.

He did. Before I left my bedroom next morning I heard his voice in the
sitting-room talking to Price, who with considerable emphasis was giving
her views of Alma.

When I joined him