But to Lytham, who knew Lola as Madame de Brézé, and had found her to be willing to make a great sacrifice for love, the inner meaning of Feo’s outburst was lost. He told himself, as he had often done before, that Feo was an extraordinary creature, queer and erotic, and came back to the main road bluntly. “May I ask you to be so kind as to tell me,” he said, “what answer you gave to Mr. Fallaray when he asked you to give him a divorce? A great deal depends upon that.” “You mean because of his career and the success of your political plans?” “Yes.” “And why do you want to know, pray?” Feo shot the question at Lola. “Because of Mr. Fallaray’s career,” Lola replied simply, “and the success of these political plans.” But this was something much too large to be swallowed, much too good to be true. Regarding Lola as a deceitful minx, a most cunning little schemer, Feo took the liberty to disbelieve this statement utterly, although on the face of it Lola appeared to have thrown in her lot with Lytham. Why?—What was she up to now?—An impish desire to keep these two on tenterhooks and get a little fun out of all this—it was the only thing that she could get—suddenly seized Feo strongly. Here was a gorgeous chance for drama. Here was an epoch-making opportunity unexpectedly to force Lytham and the young vamp, as she called her, to ask Fallaray himself for an answer to this question, and watch the scene. It was probably the only opportunity to satisfy an avid curiosity to see how Fallaray would behave when faced with his “affinity,” and find out what game the girl who had been her servant was playing. This high-faluting attitude of Lola’s was all nonsense, of course. She had caught Fallaray with her extraordinary sexiness and meant to cling to him like a limpet. To become the second Mrs. Fallaray was naturally the acme of her ambition, even although she succeeded to a man who must place himself on the shelf in order to indulge in an amorous adventure. A great idea! But it would have to be carried out carefully, so that no inkling of it might escape. “Excuse me for a moment,” said Feo, and marched out of the room with a perfectly expressionless face. Shutting the door behind her, she caught the eye of a man servant who was on duty in the hall. He came smartly forward. “Go up to Mr. Fallaray and say that I shall be greatly obliged if he will come to my den at once on an important matter.” And then, having taken two or three excited turns up and down the hall, she controlled her face and went back into the room. “Saint Anthony, Young Lochinvar, the lady’s maid,” she said to herself, “and the ex-leader of the erotics. A heterogeneous company, if ever there was one.” Once more, standing with her back to the fireplace, her elbows on the low mantel board, Feo looked down at Lola, whose eyes were very large and like those of a child who had cried herself out of tears. “Where have you been?” she asked.