"I am sure it is not," said he. "But what if the destiny or will of another comes into conflict with yours?" "Oh, then one has to fight," said she. "In all your battles, then," said he, "may success ever attend the most deserving!" She laughed. "That is ambiguous. That may be a curse, not a blessing, on my arms." "You think, then, that I am so disloyal as to be able to imagine even that anyone is more deserving than you?" he asked. Again he was a little flowery. Her effort had done her good, and she could tell herself that he was even a little fruity. "You still delight in phrases, I see," she observed. "In sincere ones," he answered. * * * * * They joined the others after this, finding that the millionaire cousin, to his infinite chagrin, had lost seven-and-sixpence, and not long after Catherine suggested adjournment to the women of the party. She herself, for some reason, felt really rather tired, though she had been fresh enough at dinner, and went upstairs immediately and to bed. But sleep, in spite of, or perhaps in consequence of her tiredness, did not soon come to her, and first one thing, then another, held her back from crossing the drowsy borderland. Now it would be the thought of Thurso that pulled her back into waking consciousness, and the perplexed wonder as to what was the wise step to take about him. You could not play with drugs like that; it was safer to play with loaded guns. Yet he had allowed her to throw that bottle away: his will was his own still.... Then her mind took a swift excursion forward into the events of next week. It was crammed from end to end, and she must go up to town quite early on Monday. She was glad it was full; she would have no time for thought. She did not want to think.... Then she turned on her side and proceeded to do so. Why had Rudolf Villars come back to trouble the busy tranquillity of her life? He had said that he had come back--it amounted to that--to resume his friendship with her. But what if she could not give it him--what if friendship was not the word for her with regard to him? She felt quite sure he still loved her--had never ceased to love her. And for herself? No one else had ever affected her as he did. She felt all she had felt twelve years ago. She resented that; she rebelled against it. Her will, she had asserted, was her destiny; but what if it came into conflict, as he had said, with another will? She was afraid of him, too, or was it of herself that she was afraid? And he had changed so little! Youthful violence, perhaps, had gone, but the strength of a man had taken its place. If only he had aged in body even! Round and round in her head went the incessant wheel of thought. She thought of Thurso again, and of the danger in which he stood; she thought of a hundred things, and then she thought of Rudolf Villars again. She could almost hear his voice in her ears.