At the third attempt— “Well, you can’t scratch Rosemary, either,” he blurted. Having no answer at hand, Mrs. Peruke preserved what she hoped was a contemptuous silence; but presently, after endeavouring vainly to digest the unsavoury fact that if Derry was safe from Roger he was equally safe from her, she burst into tears of aggravation. She had caught her husband bending, but, because her hands were tied, she could not strike. The rod was in pickle, and in pickle the rod must stay. As for Rosemary . . . . Roger was speaking. “I say, don’t cry, Jenny. I can’t bear it.” “Men are brutes,” sobbed Virginia. “All of them. They just use women like gloves and then they throw them aside.” “No, they don’t,” said Roger. “They——” “They do-o-o. You know it. Look at you and Derry.” With goggling eyes, Roger begged her to overlook their profligacy. “We’re fools. That’s all,” he asserted. “Prize fools. But we aren’t vicious.” “That’s just what you are,” wailed Virginia. “And you take it out on mugs like Rosemary and me. I’m not a bit mad with her—I’m simply sorry. I imagine life with you must be p-purple hell—like mine is with D-D-Derry. You spend your rotten time playing us up, an’ then when you’ve played us up you let us down.” Captain Chase felt inclined to scream. Instead— “Gently, old lady,” he said. “Easy with the weaker vessel. I know it looks bad, but—well, girls like you an’ Rosemary, you don’t realize your power. Poor devils like Derry an’ me—we haven’t a ghost. An’ as if your natural beauty wasn’t enough you actually fuss yourselves up to—to make us think. It’s like goin’ out after sheep with a smoke-screen and a couple of tanks.” “It’s a wicked lie,” shrieked Virginia. “How dare you say such a thing? You’re not like sheep. You’re wolves. And we don’t go after you. You come and pester us till we’re nearly out of our minds, and when for the sake of peace we try to be nice, you take what you want and then you turn us down.” Roger took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. From the opposite corner of the limousine Virginia continued to dispense indignation in the shape of spasmodic inspirations which shook the seat. The man who can withstand that particular form of emotion has yet to be sired. After the tenth appeal, which was more of an _ultimatum_ and fairly rattled round the car, Roger returned to the assault. “Jenny, my dear, have a heart. For God’s sake don’t cry like this. I swear I never meant any harm. You know I didn’t. And—and we’ll get back on them somehow. I’ve got an idea already—it only wants working out.” “I don’t want to get back,” said Virginia, dabbing her eyes. “I’m not revengeful. To-morrow I shall go into retreat. I know a place in the Midlands. You live very simply and do your own cell, and you don’t see any papers or anything. And there aren’t any men for miles, except one priest.” “Poor devil,” said Roger thoughtfully. “Does he muck out his own cell too?”