And once more Feo laughed, lit a cigarette and went towards the bathroom. Here she turned and looked at the now mouse-like Lola with a peculiarly mischievous glint in her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be a frightful spree if I went after Peter Chalfont and told him all I know about you?” Two minutes later she was singing in the bath. Tell Peter Chalfont!—But Lola knew that this was an empty threat. Mr. Fallaray’s wife was a sportsman. _Mr. Fallaray’s wife_. For the first time in all this business, these words stood out in ghastly clearness, with all that they meant to Lady Feo and her, who was “after” Mr. Fallaray. Was she, Lola, a sportsman too? The question came suddenly, like a bomb dropped from a Zeppelin, and drew the girl up short. But the answer followed quickly and it was Yes, yes, because this woman was _not_ Fallaray’s wife and never had been. But there was more than a little irony in the fact that she liked Lady Feo, was grateful to her, had seen many of her best points and so far as the Carlton episode went, recognized in her a most unusual creature, imbued with a spirit of mischief which was almost like that of a child. And yet for all that, she _was_ Fallaray’s wife.—It was more than conceivable, as Lola could guess, that if the whole story were confided in detail, with the de Brézé background all brought out, Lady Feo would first of all laugh and then probably help her little lady’s maid for the fun of the thing, and to be able, impishly, one night when she met Fallaray coming back from the House worn and round-shouldered, to stand in front of him, jumping to conclusions, and say, “Ha, ha! Sooner or later you _all_ come off your pedestal, don’t you? But look out, Master Messiah. If the world spots you in the first of your human games, pop goes the weasel, and you may as well take to growing roses.” Still singing, and back again in the highest spirits, Feo breakfasted in her room and Lola dressed her for the country. Not once but many times during the hour that followed she endeavored to pump Lola about Chalfont and as to the number of times that she had gone out into “life.” But Lola was a match for her and evaded all questions; sometimes with a perfectly straight face, sometimes with an answering twinkle in her eye. Although she was piqued by the girl’s continued elusiveness, Feo was filled with admiration at her extraordinary self-control,—a thing that she respected, being without it herself. And then Lola, with a little sigh, and as though drawn at last, got to _her_ point in this strange and intimate talk. “I’m afraid I shall never be able to see Sir Peter again,” she said sadly. “I have only one evening frock and he has seen it twice.”