“And do you mean to live like this for the rest of your life?” “Of course. Why not? Life is perfect. When I look back on those long twenty-two years before I landed in Carteret Manor I can hardly realize my good luck.” “Oh, I admit that. And you were doubly fortunate to have the mental equipment to make the most of it. But you’re missing something, you know.” “I’m not.” Gita set her mouth obstinately. “Don’t talk that old tosh.” “Call it what you like, but no woman escapes it. Even Polly is more than half in love with my brother.” “Is she?” Gita opened her eyes. “She’s never said a word to me about it.” “Bad sign, as you see her nearly every day. He’s been there to dine several times and I know they take walks together in the Park. I fancy the pursuit is on her side, but when a woman makes up her mind to marry a man she generally does.” “Funny if Polly went back on that old hard-and-fast program of hers. And I don’t quite see her as the wife of a struggling young surgeon.” “Nor I. But love has been known to do queer things to people. And Polly has the tenacity of the devil.” “I always said she was far too good for her crowd, and I’ve seen signs more than once she was sick of it. But—well, _but_!” “Exactly. She’ll blind herself and perhaps him for a time, but they’re not suited at all.” “Have you given him a talking-to?” “Do you think I’m an idiot?” “I haven’t seen him since the night of the Christmas party. Then he looked like a beau cavalier and was certainly devoted to Polly.” She almost blushed as she remembered his explosive declaration to herself. “I rather thought you’d made an impression on him,” said Elsie. “And that wouldn’t have done either. I suppose I don’t want him to marry at all. He’s the sort of man who is better off alone. Perhaps I’m all wrong. I’d be a fool if I thought I knew my own brother . . . I wish you’d ask them to dine and then tell me what you think of it.” “I’ve asked him several times but he always gave some excuse. When Eustace has finished his book we’re going to have a celebration and I’ll tell Polly to bring him.” “Well—if I were a different person, and you were a different person, I’d ask you to use your own wiles and break it up. But as it is——” “I should think not!” Gita sprang to her feet. “Let’s go for a walk.” CHAPTER II Eustace, unshorn and unshaven, banged out the last word of his novel, tore the page from the typewriter and flung it to the floor. Then he hit his machine a blow with his fist, rattled the case over it, and swinging about in his chair, scowled at the scattered manuscript. He gave full rein to his temperament when writing a book in the seclusion of his chambers and bore little resemblance to the Eustace Bylant known to his world.