‘He is an odd man. He has inherited a large fortune from his father. He is what I call disgustingly rich; he never seems to do anything with his money. His chief pleasure in life seems to be sitting still and thinking.’ ‘What does he think about?’ ‘Nobody knows. I used to offer him a penny for his thoughts last year, but he always made one answer.’ ‘What was that?’ ‘He only said, “My mind is a perfect blank.”’ ‘Oh,’ cried Lady Kirkdale, ‘that is like those Indian people who sit contemplating their big toes all day. What are they called?’ ‘Do you mean the Yogis?’ ‘Ah yes, that was it.’ ‘I am never quite accurate about things. You see, Geraldine, dear, it’s one of my womanly qualities.’ ‘Are you going down to Cowes, Mr. Travers? I think I heard Maisy asking you to join her party.’ ‘Are you going?’ ‘We have taken rooms in the hotel.’ ‘Then I shall certainly take advantage of the proposal. That is, if Mr. Potter sends the invitation. Does his mind ever cease to be a blank?’ ‘No one knows.’ * * * * * It was the first Sunday in August. Lady Kirkdale and Lady Geraldine Fitzjustin had gone to spend a few days in Essex with Mary, the eldest daughter of the family, before proceeding to Cowes. Lord Kirkdale, left in possession at Davies Street, had invited Travers to dinner, and the two men were sitting in the smoking-room ruminating over their cigars and whisky and Seltzer. There had been a long pause in the conversation when Kirkdale suddenly looked up and said, ‘Look here, Travers, who is this girl down at the cottage?’ ‘I’ve been waiting for that question for some time; I thought she must have told you herself.’ ‘Not a word.’ ‘Well, I think perhaps I ought to let you know that she is secretly married to a very dear friend of mine.’ ‘Ah, I knew it; she is your wife.’ ‘Ha! ha! ha! that’s good; my dear fellow, you never made such a mistake in your life. I may be foolish, but I’m not such a fool as to go and put my head into a noose like that.’ ‘Travers, I don’t believe you. I am sure she loves you.’ ‘That’s quite possible.’ ‘Look here, you think you’re a very clever man; you think you are deceiving the whole world, because you can deceive a parcel of women. But the time has come for a little plain speaking, old fellow. I know all about you. Clausen has told me. He recognised you that first day you called in Davies Street. He was present when the card-party at Canning’s ended your career in London society. Since then I have had many proofs of how a fellow can go from bad to worse; how a man who begins with cheating at cards can end by picking up half-crowns from his friend’s dressing-table. No! no! old fellow, hitting me won’t put it right,’ and he seized Travers by the wrists. ‘What are you going to do?’ said Travers, helpless and sullen in Kirkdale’s powerful grasp. ‘I am going to hear the truth about this girl.’ ‘And what else?’ ‘Then I shall decide what to do. Who is she?’