"I am," replied Mrs Carfrae, with vigour. "I would do anything," said Carthew awkwardly, "to put things right between those two. But supposing you make your attempt, Mrs Carfrae, and--and fail, won't it make matters worse?" "Much," said Mrs Carfrae calmly. "If I interfere, unsuccessfully, I doubt if either of them will ever speak to me again. That is the usual and proper fate of busybodies. But--I am going to risk it!... Run me back to my sitting-room now, and call Janet. I hear your friends yattering out there in the verandah. They will be through with Algiers." CHAPTER FIFTEEN. JIM CARTHEW. But our two conspirators were fated, for all practical purposes, to exchange _rôles_. The following evening Daphne and Carthew found themselves sitting together in the hotel garden after dinner. A great moon shone from a velvety African sky; the scented breeze rustled in the palms; and the music of the band drifted to their ears in intermittent waves. It was one of those nights which touch the imagination and stir the emotions--a night upon which human nature expands to its utmost limits. A night upon which passion awakes, and long-cherished secrets are whispered into suddenly receptive ears. Also a night upon which the devil stalks abroad. Dido resided a few miles from this spot. It was probably a night like this that made the Fourth Book of the Æneid worth writing. If Dido failed to resist such environment, what of Daphne? She was young; she was intensely susceptible to such things as moonshine and soft music; and, disguise the fact from herself as she might, she was lonely. It is not altogether surprising that, as she surveyed this silent comely youth who lolled beside her eyeing the glittering Mediterranean in stolid abstraction, she should unconsciously have acquiesced in the first of the dismal prognostications of that splenetic but clear-sighted baronet, Sir Arthur Hilton. Jim Carthew had occupied Daphne's thoughts a good deal of late, and to-night she felt suddenly conscious of a desire to flirt with him. "Cigarette, please!" she commanded. Carthew silently handed her his case, and allowed her to select and light her own cigarette--a prodigal waste of opportunity, as any professional philanderer could have told her. "A penny for your thoughts!" continued Daphne pertly. Carthew, struck by a peculiar note in her voice, turned and looked at her. He was met by a provocative glance. There was a brief silence. Then he said gravely-- "I don't think you are quite cut out for that sort of thing, Lady Carr." Daphne, feeling as if she had received a whip-lash in the face, stared at him, white with anger. Then she rose stiffly from her seat and moved towards the hotel. Carthew did not stir. "Don't go," he said. "We may as well have this out." Daphne stood irresolute. Then curiosity got the better of virtuous indignation, and she sat down again. "Will you kindly tell me," she said, "what you mean by talking in that way?"