“I tell you, you never do the poor girl justice. If she did that--and the chances are she did--then his running away is most encouraging. It means, in your own delightful language, that he did not fall for it--did not want to run any risk of compromising her, if marriage was the consequence.” “But, Nancy, Christine almost admitted that--that he tried to make love to her.” “I can’t see what that has to do with it, or what difference it makes,” replied Mrs. Almar. “However, too much importance should not be attached to such admissions. I have sometimes made them myself when the facts did not bear me out. No woman likes to confess, especially to an old adorer like you, that she has spent so many hours alone with a man and he has not made love to her.” Hickson shook his head. “I’m not clever enough to be able to explain it,” he said, “but I received the clearest impression from her that she had been through some painful experience.” “Good,” said Nancy. “Do you know the most painful experience she could have been through?” “No, what?” “If he hadn’t paid the slightest attention to her; and that, my dear brother, is what I am inclined to think took place. No, the game is still on; only now she’ll have the Usshers to help her. This is no time for me to lie in bed.” Ned looked at her doubtfully. “I thought I’d try and sleep a little,” he said. “The best thing you can do,” she returned. “Lucie! Lucie! Where are the bells in this house! What privations one suffers for staying away from home! Oh, yes, here it is,” and she caught the atom of enamel and gold dangling at the head of her bed, and rang it without ceasing until the maid, who regarded her mistress with an admiration quite untinctured by affection, appeared silently at the doorway. In an astonishingly short space of time, she was dressed and downstairs, presenting her usual sleek and polished appearance. Wickham was alone in the drawing-room, and a suggestion that they should have another game of piquet quickly drove him to the writing of some purely imaginary business letters. The coast was thus clear, but Riatt was still absent. Nancy’s methods were nothing if not direct. She rang the bell and when the butler appeared she said: “Where is Mr. Riatt?” “In his room, madam.” “Dressing?” “No, madam, he is dressed. Resting, I should say.” Nancy nodded her head once. “One moment,” she said; and going to the writing table she sat down and wrote quickly: “I should like five minutes’ conversation with you. Strange to say my motive is altruistic--so altruistic that I feel I should sign myself ‘Pro Bono Publico,’ instead of Nancy Almar. There is no one down here in the drawing-room at the moment.” She put this in an envelope, sealed it with sealing wax (to the disgust of the butler who found it hard enough, as it was, to keep up with all that went on in the house) and told the man to send it at once to Mr. Riatt’s room.