orgotten him and the episode in the riotous gaiety
increasing with the accession of half a dozen more men.

When Selwyn approached, Neergard saw him first, stared at him, and
snickered; but he greeted everybody with smiling composure, nodding to
those he knew--a trifle more formally to Mrs. Ruthven--and, coolly
pulling up a chair, seated himself beside Gerald.

"Boots has driven home with the others," he said in a low voice; "I'm
going back in the motor-boat with you. Don't worry about Austin. Are you
ready?"

The boy had evidently let the wine alone, or else fright had sobered
him, for he looked terribly white and tired: "Yes," he said, "I'll go
when you wish. I suppose they'll never forgive me for this. Come on."

"One moment, then," nodded Selwyn; "I want to speak to Mrs. Ruthven."
And, quietly turning to Alixe, and dropping his voice to a tone too low
for Neergard to hear--for he was plainly attempting to listen:

"You are making a mistake; do you understand? Whoever is your
hostess--wherever you are staying--find her and go there before it is
too late."

She inclined her pretty head thoughtfully, eyes on the wine-glass which
she was turning round and round between her slender fingers. "What do
you mean by 'too late'?" she asked. "Don't you know that everything is
too late for me now?"

"What do _you_ mean, Alixe?" he returned, watching her intently.

"What I say. I have not seen Jack Ruthven for two months. Do you know
what that means? I have not heard from him for two months. Do you know
what _that_ means? No? Well, I'll tell you, Philip; it means that when I
do hear from him it will be through his attorneys."

He turned slightly paler: "Why"?"

"Divorce," she said with a reckless little laugh--"and the end of things
for me."

"On what grounds?" he demanded doggedly. "Does he threaten you?"

She made no movement or reply, reclining there, one hand on her
wine-glass, the smile still curving her lips. And he repeated his
question in a low, distinct voice--too low for Neergard to hear; and he
was still listening.

"Grounds? Oh, he thinks I've misbehaved with--never mind who. It is not
true--but he cares nothing about that, either. You see"--and she bent
nearer, confidentially, with a mysterious little nod of her pretty
head--"you see, Jack Ruthven is a little insane. . . . You are
surprised? Pooh! I've suspected it for months."

He stared at her; then: "Where are you stopping?"

"Aboard the _Niobra