She was neither amused nor horrified; but on the other hand, if Ronnie Morelle realized that in his invention he had accidentally hit upon the truth, he would not have been amused and most certainly terror would have struck him dumb. If Beryl had only said what she was of a mind to say, that she had learned from her father that Steppe was in love with her, she might have silenced him. But she said nothing. Ronnie's explanation seemed natural--knowing Ronnie. "I'd sooner see you dead than married to him," he said vehemently, "but none of us can say that now. We are in a very tight place. Steppe could ruin your father with a gesture--he could very seriously inconvenience me." Here he was much in earnest, and the girl, with a cold feeling at her heart, knew he spoke the truth. "But that time will pass. We shall weather the storm which is shrieking round our ears--you don't read the financial papers--you're wise. You see what might happen, Beryl?" Beryl nodded. She was ridiculously happy. "A great play, don't you think so, Miss Merville?" It was Sir John Maxton who had pushed through the crowd in the vestibule. "Splendid," she said. "Ronnie, did you like it?" "I never heard a word," said Ronnie, and somehow that statement was so consonant with his new honesty that it confirmed her in a faith which was as novel. The car carried them through the crowded circus and into the quietude of Piccadilly. "Oh, Ronnie--I am so happy--" His arm slipped round her and his lips pressed fiercely against her red mouth. * * * * * "Why can't you sleep?" asked the drowsy Christina, as the girl lit her candle for the second time. "I don't know--I'm having such beastly dreams," said Evie fretfully. _BOOK THE SECOND_ I The step of Ambrose Sault was light and there was a buoyancy in his mien when he came into Mrs. Colebrook's kitchen, surprising that good lady with so unusual an appearance at an hour of the day when she was taking her afternoon siesta. "Lord, how you startled me!" she said, "the ostymopat came this morning. A stout gentleman with whiskers. Very nice, too, and American. But bless you, Mr. Sault, he'll never do any good to Christina, though I wish he could, for I'm up and down those blessed stairs from the moment I get up to the moment I go to bed. He'll never cure her. She's had ten doctors and four specialists, and she's been three times to St. Mary's hospital; to say nothing of the Evelyna when she was a child and fell out of the perambulator that did it. Ten doctors and four specialists--they're doctors, too, in a manner of speaking, so you might say fourteen." Sault never interrupted his landlady, although his forbearance meant, very often, a long period of waiting. "Can I see Christina, Mrs. Colebrook?" he begged.