Mowbray growled something in his thick inarticulate English voice, and Ora grasped her opportunity. She turned to him with the uncompromising directness her sinuous mind knew so well how to assume. “Take me into your confidence,” she said peremptorily. “I can help you. At all events keep you from making any mistakes with Ida. She is what is called a difficult proposition. Are you in love with her?” Mowbray turned a deep brick-red and frowned, but he answered intelligibly: “You know jolly well I am.” “Then let me tell you that there is only one way you can get her. Ida is moral to the marrow of her bones. You might make her love you, for she and her husband are practically separated, but you can get her only by persuading her to divorce Mr. Compton.” “I’ve thought of that. Of course I’d rather marry her. I’m a decent sort myself--hate skulking--and lying--she’s the last woman I’d want to compromise. But I’m so beastly poor. I’ve only twelve hundred pounds a year.” “And she has forty thousand pounds now of her own. You need not hesitate to spend the capital, for Mr. Compton is most generous, and is sure to give her much more. He is bound to be a multimillionaire--it is only a question of a few years.” “Does he want his own freedom?” “I am not in his confidence. But as they no longer care for each other and have agreed to live apart--merely showing themselves together in public occasionally to avoid gossip--it is natural to suppose that he would be indifferent, at least. He cannot be more than thirty, and will be sure to want his freedom sooner or later.” “This is splendid of you!” cried the Englishman gratefully. “She’s not happy. I know that, and now I shall know just what to do.” “Sympathise with her. Make yourself necessary--make her feel the neglected wife, and what a devoted husband would mean. You have the game in your own hands, and I will help you.” XVI Ora discerned certain changes in Ida as the three reunited friends, with so many pleasant memories in common, talked gaily at luncheon. It was not only that she was a trifle thinner but there were shadows in her eyes that gave them troubled depths. The curves of her mouth also were less assured, and her strong, rather large, but beautiful hands had a restless movement. Ora, whose imagination was always ready to spring from the leash and visualise a desired conclusion, pictured Ida, if not already in love with this good-looking and delightful Englishman, as circling close; neglected and mortified, she longed for the opportunity to live her life with him; in short was champing the bit.