He could not understand his own feelings. But when he thought of Beryl Van Tuyn he felt full of the fighting instinct, and ready to take the initiative. He would never fight to retain Lady Sellingworth’s friendship, but he would fight to assert himself with the beautiful American. She should not take him up and use him merely as a means to amusement without any care for what was due to him. Lady Sellingworth was old, and in a sense famous. Such a woman could do as she pleased. With her, protest would be ridiculous. But he would find a way with Beryl Van Tuyn. On that day and the next Craven did not see Miss Van Tuyn. No message came to him from Lady Sellingworth. Evidently the latter wished to have nothing more to do with him. She had now been in London for nearly a week without letting him know it. Miss Van Tuyn had telephoned once suggesting a meeting. But Craven had charmingly put her off, alleging a tiresome engagement. He did not choose now to seem eager to meet her. He was considering what he would do. If he could manage to meet her in Glebe Place! But how to contrive such an encounter? While he was meditating about this he was again rung up by Miss Van Tuyn, who suggested that he should play golf with her at Beaconsfield on the following day, Saturday. “You can’t pretend you are working overtime at the F.O. to-morrow,” she said. Craven replied that the F.O. kept him very long even on Saturdays. “What’s the matter? What are you angry about?” asked Miss Van Tuyn through the telephone. Craven intended to make a quietly evasive reply, but he found himself saying: “If I work overtime at the F.O., are there not others who do much the same--in Glebe Place?” After a pause Miss Van Tuyn said: “I haven’t an idea what you mean.” Craven said nothing. Already he was angry with himself, and regretted his impulsiveness. “Well?” said Miss Van Tuyn. “Well?” retorted Craven, feeling rather absurd. Again there was a pause. Then, speaking quickly, Miss Van Tuyn said: “If you can escape from the F.O. you might be in Glebe Place about five on Monday. Good-bye!” And she rang off, leaving Craven with the pleasant sensation that, as often before, he had “given himself away.” Certainly he had shown Miss Van Tuyn his jealousy. She must have guessed what his mention of Glebe Place meant. And yet she had asked him to go there on the following Monday. If he did not go perhaps that neglect would cancel his imprudence at the telephone. He made up his mind not to go. Nevertheless, when he left the Foreign Office on the Monday about half-past four, instead of going towards Mayfair he found himself walking quickly in the direction of Chelsea. CHAPTER VI