The American millionaire had, from his first appearance in London, interested himself in more than one charitable society. Representatives of these associations called upon him during appointed hours, and were shown straight to his "den." Indeed, they were the only persons welcomed there, but the Countess de Santiago had some reason to expect that an exception might be made in her favour. Luckily, the day when she heard the news from Lady Annesley-Seton was one of the two days in the week when Nelson Smith was certain not to be out of the house in the afternoon. Luckily also she knew that his wife was equally certain to be absent. "Anita" was going to play bridge at a house where Madalena was invited. She got her maid to telephone an excuse--"the Countess had a bad headache." Had she said heartache it would have been nearer the truth. But one does not tell the truth in these matters. Not for years--not since the strenuous times when Don had saved her from serious trouble and put her on the road to success had Madalena de Santiago been so unhappy. Whichever way she looked she saw darkness ahead, yet she hoped something from her talk with Don--just what, she did not specify to herself in words, but "_something_." "I wish to see Mr. Nelson Smith on important business," she said, looking the butler straight in the eyes. It was he who opened the door of the Portman Square house on the "charity days." He gave her back look for look, losing the air of respectable servitude and suddenly becoming a human being. "Mr. Smith is not alone," he answered, contriving to give some special meaning to the ordinary words which made them almost cryptic. "But I think he will be free before long, if you care to wait, madame, and I will mention that you are here." "You must say it is important," she impressed upon him as she was ushered into a little reception room. A few minutes later Charrington took her to the door of the "den," where Knight received her with casual cheerfulness. "This is an unexpected pleasure!" he said. "Don't let us bother with conventionalities, Don!" she exclaimed, her emotion showing itself in petulance. "I had to come and have an understanding with you." "An understanding?" Knight was very calm, so calm that she--who knew him in many phases--was stung with the conviction that he needed to ask no questions. He was temporizing; and her anger--passionate, unavailing anger, beating itself like waves on the rock of his strong nature--broke out in tears. "You know what I mean!" She choked on the words. "You're tired of me! There's nothing more I can do for you, and so--and so--oh, Don, say I'm wrong! Say it's a mistake. Say it's not you but _she_ who doesn't want me. She's jealous. Only say that. It's all I want. Just to know it is not you who are so cruel--after the past!" Knight remained unmoved. He looked straight at her, frowning. "What past?" he inquired, blankly. "You ask me that--_you_?"