hat you are talking nonsense? Be a reasonable
Poet, at least!"

She was drawing her hand caressingly over his, and just as she said
this, lifted it suddenly, with a start. "Your ring scratches," said she.

"Does it?" said he, feeling it. "Oh yes--it does. I've found where. I'll
have it seen to.... I wonder now why I never noticed that before."

"It's a good ring that won't scratch its wearer. I suppose I was
unpopular with it. It didn't hurt. Perhaps it was only in fun. Or
perhaps it was to call attention to the fact that you have never told me
about it. You haven't, and you said you would."

"So I did, when we had The Scene." He meant the occasion on which,
according to Gwen's mamma, she had made him an offer of her affections
in the Jacobean drawing-room. "It's a ring with magic powers--nothing to
do with any young lady, as you thought. It turns pale at the approach of
poison."

"Let's get some poison, and try. Isn't there some poison in the house?"

"I dare say there is, in the kitchen. You might touch the bell and ask."

"I shall do nothing of the sort. I mean private poison--doctor's
bottles--blue ones with embossed letters.... _You_ know?"

"_I_ know. My maternal parent has any number. But all empty, I'm afraid.
She always finishes them. Besides--don't let's bring her in! She has
such high principles. However, I've got some poison--what an Irish
suicide would consider the rale cratur--only I won't get it out even for
this experiment, because I may want it...."

"You _may want it_!"

"Of course." He suddenly deserted paradox and levity, and became
serious. "My dearest, think of this! Suppose I were to lose you, here in
the dark!... Oh, I know all that about duty--_I_ know! I would not kill
myself at once, because it would be unkind to Irene. But suppose I lost
Irene too?"

"I can't reason it out. But I can't believe it would ever be right to
destroy oneself."

"Possibly not, but once one was effectually destroyed...."

"That sounds like rat-paste." Gwen wanted to joke her way out of this
region of horrible surmise.

But Adrian was keen on his line of thought. "Exactly!" said he. "Vermin
destroyer. _I_ should be the vermin. But once destroyed, what contrition
should I have to endure? Remorse is a game that takes two selves to play
at it--a criminal and a conscientious person! Suppose the rat-paste had
destroyed them both!"

"But would it?"

"Absolute ignorance, whether or no, means an even chance