They stood at the door, watching the tail light of the motor disappear down the drive; and returned in silence to the drawing room. “You look worried, dear,” she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. He smiled faintly. “Is it the money?” she asked anxiously. For a moment he was tempted to tell her of the letter. He stifled the temptation realizing that she would not consent to his going out if she knew the truth. “It is nothing very much,” he said. “I have to go down to Beston Tracey to meet the last train. I am expecting some proofs down.” He hated lying to her, and even an innocuous lie of this character was repugnant to him. “I'm afraid you have had a dull evening,” he said, “Kara was not very amusing.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “He has not changed very much,” she said slowly. “He's a wonderfully handsome chap, isn't he?” he asked in a tone of admiration. “I can't understand what you ever saw in a fellow like me, when you had a man who was not only rich, but possibly the best-looking man in the world.” She shivered a little. “I have seen a side of Mr. Kara that is not particularly beautiful,” she said. “Oh, John, I am afraid of that man!” He looked at her in astonishment. “Afraid?” he asked. “Good heavens, Grace, what a thing to say! Why I believe he'd do anything for you.” “That is exactly what I am afraid of,” she said in a low voice. She had a reason which she did not reveal. She had first met Remington Kara in Salonika two years before. She had been doing a tour through the Balkans with her father--it was the last tour the famous archeologist made--and had met the man who was fated to have such an influence upon her life at a dinner given by the American Consul. Many were the stories which were told about this Greek with his Jove-like face, his handsome carriage and his limitless wealth. It was said that his mother was an American lady who had been captured by Albanian brigands and was sold to one of the Albanian chiefs who fell in love with her, and for her sake became a Protestant. He had been educated at Yale and at Oxford, and was known to be the possessor of vast wealth, and was virtually king of a hill district forty miles out of Durazzo. Here he reigned supreme, occupying a beautiful house which he had built by an Italian architect, and the fittings and appointments of which had been imported from the luxurious centres of the world. In Albania they called him “Kara Rumo,” which meant “The Black Roman,” for no particular reason so far as any one could judge, for his skin was as fair as a Saxon's, and his close-cropped curls were almost golden.