spoken of arguments, of influence. Was it any responsibility of his that the man who had listened had gone further--had chosen to gamble instead with life and death? Deane went back through that conversation, word by word. No, he was guiltless! He had not suggested violence! He even told himself that he would not have approved of it. And yet the weight upon his heart was not lightened. The little picture was still there, reproduced with almost photographic exactness. Was it his fancy, or had the trembling man's eyes really turned towards him--had his white lips really framed that passionate, unspoken appeal which seemed to ring in his ears? Deane rose to his feet with a little stifled cry. He seemed to understand now how men who were left alone with their thoughts might find madness. CHAPTER VII LOVE OR INTEREST? Deane found his little party drinking their coffee in the palm lounge. Lady Olive greeted him with upraised eyebrows. "My dear Stirling!" she exclaimed. "Have you been telephoning to the other end of the world?" "I am so sorry," he answered, taking the vacant chair by her side. "I came away from the office feeling that I had forgotten something, and it took me quite a long time to straighten things out. Tell me, what are you all going to do this afternoon?" "We are going down to Ranelagh," said Lady Olive. "There is some tennis, and Dicky is playing polo in the regimental finals. Don't you think that you could take an hour or so off, and come down with us? You really look as though you needed some fresh air." Deane shook his head. "Nothing in the world," he declared, "is more impossible. I have an appointment in the city at half-past three, and another at four. After that I have at least a hundred letters to dictate." "I am beginning to discover," Lady Olive remarked, with an air of resignation, "that there are disadvantages in being engaged to a city man." Deane smiled. "Let us hope," said he, "that after you are married you will still regard the situation in the same light. Your friend Julia, for instance, declares that she would never have married anyone who was not kept away from home at regular intervals." Lady Olive leaned a little towards him. After all, he had been very nice. The Elstrees had found him delightful, and there was no man in the lounge half so good-looking. She decided to say something charming. "Julia," she whispered, "was never in love with her husband, even before she married him." "And you?" Deane murmured. She laughed at him and looked away, but he was suddenly insistent, taking her hand, and forcing her to turn again towards him. "Tell me," he said quietly, "do you really care for me, Olive? Oh! I know you care enough to justify you in marrying me, but I mean something different. I mean do you really care in the great fashion, you know, like the people one reads of,--like Iseult, and Amy Robsart, and those others?"