He could hardly prolong the interview now, after her unmistakable hint; and if he did, it must be with little hope of gaining his point. She meant fighting, if it were forced upon her, and, so far, her defence had been perfect. “Then do I understand you to deny, Countess, that the little dagger is yours?” he asked bluntly, with an expression of rankling defeat on his face. “I know nothing of it,” she answered, with contemptuous indifference; “and if I did, I should scarcely be inclined, after your somewhat objectionable proposal, to discuss the matter with you.” As she made a move towards the bell, he put forth a restraining hand. “Then you reject me and my suggestion, Countess,” he demanded sullenly. “It is your final answer?” “My final answer,” she assured him. “I am only sorry that you should have been so ill-advised as to invite it.” And she rang the bell. “Very well,” he returned darkly. “Time will show which of us has been the more ill-advised.” She had turned her back upon him, and so, without any leave-taking, he went away. CHAPTER VI THE MAN BEHIND “You are earlier than I expected, Geoffrey.” Gastineau, as he spoke, laid down the book he was reading and stretched out his hand to Herriard with a smile. “Was the dinner worth going to--apart from business?” “Oh, yes; it wasn’t bad.” Herriard brought up a chair and sat down with a yawn. “Tell me all about it.” “Not much to tell that would amuse you, I’m afraid. The usual assemblage of self-seekers; I myself being no exception.” “Yes,” Gastineau agreed, with a little cynical laugh that seemed characteristic of the man. “It is inevitable, as the world goes to-day. All tradesmen, advertising their wares, only in our plane of life they happen to be intellectual goods we want to dispose of. There is not much point in being clever, Geof, unless we bring samples of our brains into market and make the world think the bulk is equal in quality all through.” “In some, perhaps rare, cases it is,” Herriard observed. “Yours, my dear friend, for instance.” Gastineau shook his head with a meaning smile. “You didn’t know much of me in my living days. If they were not over I would not tell you what a humbug I was. Oh, yes,” he replied to the other’s gesture of protest; “I had a certain amount of brains, more than most people, if you like; and that is not saying much. But let me assure you, my dear Geof, that their principal employment when I was fighting the world, was in minimizing my defects and exaggerating my cleverness; in short, working with all my might to make the world take me for a wonderfully clever genius, and to ascribe to abnormal brain-power what was really due to carefully directed push and discriminating powers of showing off.” “It is difficult to believe,” Herriard returned with mock gravity, “in face of the astounding modesty with which you tell it.”