“Poor Sir Gregory!” he scoffed. “He ought to be a very happy man. Six months’ hard labour was just what he wanted, and he was lucky to be charged, not with the killing of his unfortunate servant but with the concealment of his death.” “Whom are you arresting now?” “I’m not so sure,” said Michael, “whether I shall arrest her.” “Is it a woman?” He nodded. “What has she done?” “The charge isn’t definitely settled,” he said evasively, “but I think there will be several counts. Creating a disturbance will be one; deliberately endangering public health—at any rate, the health of one of the public—will be another; maliciously wounding the feelings——” “Oh, _you_, you mean?” She laughed softly. “I thought that was part of your delirium that night at the hospital, or part of mine. But as other people saw you kiss me, it must have been yours. I don’t think I want to marry,” she said thoughtfully. “I am——” “Don’t say that you are wedded to your art,” he groaned. “They all say that!” “No, I’m not wedded to anything, except a desire to prevent my best friend from making a great mistake. You’ve a very big career in front of you, Michael, and marrying me is not going to help you. People will think you’re just infatuated, and when the inevitable divorce comes along——” They both laughed together. “If you have finished being like a maiden aunt, I want to tell you something,” said Michael. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.” “Of course you have,” she said calmly. “That’s the only possible way you _can_ love a girl. If it takes three days to make up your mind it can’t be love. That’s why I know I don’t love you. I was annoyed with you the first time I met you; I was furious with you the second time; and I’ve just tolerated you ever since. Wait till I get my make-up off.” She got down and ran to her dressing-room. Michael strolled across to comfort an exhausted Jack Knebworth. “Adele? Oh, she’s all right. She really has had an offer from America—not Hollywood, but a studio in the East. I’ve advised her not to take it until she’s a little more proficient, but I don’t think she wanted any advice. That girl isn’t going to stay in the picture business.” “What makes you think that, Knebworth?” “She’s going to get married,” said Jack glumly. “I can recognize the signs. I told you all along that there was something queer about her. She’s going to get married and leave the screen for good—that’s her eccentricity.” “And whom do you think she will marry?” asked Michael. Old Jack snorted. “It won’t be Reggie Connolly—that I can promise you.”