Herbert was amazed at her coolness, being unaware that on her part the meeting with himself had been anticipated. He was completely staggered, too, at the metamorphosis which had taken place in her. He had always credited her with being arrogantly clever, but how in those twelve years she had managed to transform herself from a rank Bohemian into a conventional society lady was more than even he could understand. Judging by the smiling bows of recognition which passed between herself and others who were supping at the Carlton, she was well known: that she had been in the company of Lord Bexley all the evening was in itself sufficient guarantee as to her social standing. Not until the guests were dispersing did he get an opportunity of speaking to her alone; and then it was only for a second. She was standing in the vestibule, having just said good night to some friends whilst her cavalier went to see after her carriage. Herbert approached, and, with a gesture, drew her aside. “Ninette!” he exclaimed; and then again, “Ninette!” She smiled the slow tortuous smile he knew so well of old. “Not ‘Ninette’ in England,” was her laconic answer. “I must speak to you,” he said hurriedly, noticing that in spite of the difference in her age and position she was little changed. “Where can I see you, and at what hour? I must have an explanation.” She drew herself up with dignity. “There is no ‘must’ where I am concerned,” she replied haughtily. “But if you care to call and see me to-morrow, I shall be at home. Here is my card.” He took it hastily and placed it in his card-case. “At what time?” he asked again. “Ten o’clock?” “You surely do not expect me to be up at that unearthly hour of the morning?” she answered in an aggrieved tone. “You can come at twelve.” At that moment Lord Bexley reappeared, and, with a bow, the artist moved away. Then, when he had taken leave of Celia and was on his way to his hotel, he paused under a street lamp to examine the card. “MRS. NEVILLE WILLIAMS, _150 Cromwell Mansions, South Kensington, S.W._” Such was its inscription. Herbert read it aloud. “_Mrs. Neville Williams._” The name seemed to have a familiar ring about it. Where had he heard it before? Suddenly he recollected. It was the name of the Vicar of Durlston’s brother-in-law, the late Dr. Neville Williams of Harley Street. Good Heavens! Could Ninette have had the audacity to pose as the doctor’s wife?--or of what had she been guilty? A cold sweat broke out upon his brow as he thought of it. In whatever way she had disgraced him, she was still his wife; and now that she had suddenly crossed his path again, there could be no more ignoring of the fact. What would society say if the scandal were exposed? he wondered dully. What would Marjorie say? There was no sleep for Herbert Karne that night. CHAPTER XV NINETTE TELLS HER STORY