She moved to a sofa near by and motioned Mrs. Fontaine to a seat. The latter had to yield. Quixtus drew up a chair. “I’ve done a desperate thing,” said Clementina. “I’ve taken the old Manor House at Moleham-on-Thames, for August and September. It’s as big as a hotel and unless I fill it with people, I shall be lost in it. Now every one who wants to paint can have a studio—I myself am going to paint every morning—and any one who wants to write can have a library. Sheila has picked out _the_ library for you, Ephraim—takes it for granted that you’re coming. I hope you will. You’ll break her heart if you don’t—and there’ll be a room for Mr. Huckaby too. There’ll be Etta and Tommy, of course—and the Admiral has promised to put in a week or two—and so on. And if you’ll only come and stay August with me, my dear Mrs. Fontaine, my cup of happiness, unlike my house, will be full.” Lena Fontaine gasped for an outraged moment. Then a swift, fierce temptation assailed her to take the enemy at her word and fight the battle; but, glancing at her, she saw the irony and banter and deadly purpose behind the glittering eyes, and her courage failed her. She was dominated again by the intense personality, frightened by her sudden and unexpected power. To stay under the woman’s roof was an impossibility. “I’m sorry I can’t accept such a charming invitation,” she said with a smile of the lips, “for I’ve made an engagement with some friends to go to Dinard.” “Oh—you’re going to Dinard too?” cried Clementina. “What do you mean by ‘too’?” asked the other shortly. “I heard a rumour that Dr. Quixtus was going there. It seemed so silly that I paid no attention to it. Are you really going Ephraim?” It was a trap deliberately laid. It was a defiance, a challenge. From the corner of the sofa she stretched out her bare arm at full length and laid her hand on his shoulder. The other woman looked white and pinched; her eyes lost their allurement, and regarded him almost with enmity. “You promised.” The words were snapped out before she could realise their significance. The instant after she could have thrust hat-pins into herself in punishment for folly. The manhood in Quixtus leapt at the lash. He knew then, with a startling clarity of assurance, that nothing in the world would induce him to strut about casinos with her in Dinard. He smiled courteously. “Pardon me, dear Mrs. Fontaine. I made no promise. You must remember my little—my little trope of the daw and the peacocks.” Clementina satisfied, withdrew her hand. “Of course, dear Ephraim, if you would prefer to go to Dinard with Mrs. Fontaine——” Lena Fontaine rose. “Dr. Quixtus is obviously free to do what he chooses. I wish you would kindly leave me out of it.” Clementina rose too, and held out her hand. “I will, my dear Mrs. Fontaine,” she said sweetly. “If I can. Good-bye. It has been so delightful to have had you.”