“Distasteful, Phil--think of that!--you called her distasteful! And so to see you dally with some fruit more to your liking! What a madness, then, would be hers, to oust the interloper, to seize her place, to convince you of the lovelier flavour of that you had insulted and rejected. Be bold and dare it. Force her into taking the initiative in this game of passion, and you’ll win her yet, whole and unsullied.” So spake the wily serpent, his eyes furtive, looking to confirm the breach while feigning a way to close it. My lord stared before him, glum and unconvinced. “’Tis a cursed risk,” he said. “What if it should fail?” “Then everything would fail. The gods themselves are subject to Fate; and Fate is jealousy. If jealousy cannot work the oracle, then nothing can.” “It would be simpler to enforce her.” “Much; and to drive her straightway upon other consolation. But do as you will. It is your concern, and if we differ as to the means----” “No, no. Keep your temper, George! Damn it, man, keep your temper! I believe you may be right, after all.” He stood glowering, and biting his nails. “What fruit to dally with? What pretty gull?” he said. “You don’t say, and it would have to be before her face, I presume?” A laugh, timely converted into a cough, gurgled in Hamilton’s throat. Here was the way opened to the working of a certain dare-devil scheme, which had already flashed upon him in outline while he meditated. With hardly a thought he jumped to it. “As to that,” he said soberly, “by the happiest of chances the means are offered you, and immediately, by Kate herself. She has a young friend about to visit her, as she tells me--a Mrs. Moll Davis--some pretty tomrig from the country; and what could better serve your purpose than she? Kate’s own friend--why, ’tis a very providence!” Chesterfield grinned sourly. “I must see her first.” A lackey entered at the moment, bringing a summons from the Queen. My lord was wanted by her Majesty, and he might curse and “pish,” but he had to obey. He sniggered round, as he made for the door. “More of this anon. Don’t go till I return. Jealousy it is, George.” “Jealousy, Phil.” Hamilton waved his hand, and turned, as the door shut on the departing figure. Then, with his fingers at his chin and a grin on his face, he stood to consider the game to which he had committed himself. CHAPTER III