"No," he said bluntly; "you are interested in no one but Rita Kildair. I know that much." He rose, took several strides back and forth, and, returning, stood by her. "I hate allies," he said; "I prefer to consider you as a woman." His remark brought a sharp gleam of curiosity to her eyes, a spark of instinctive sex antagonism that flashed and disappeared. "Remember, I have warned you," she said, retiring as abruptly into the feline languor of her pose. He stood, swayed by two emotions, the purely gentle, almost caressing effect her indolence brought him, and the desire to establish some sudden empire over her—to feel his strength above hers. "What’s the weak point in your armor?" he said savagely. "I wouldn’t tell you." "I think I know one." "Really?" He drew his chair still closer, and, leaning over, touched with his stubby forefinger the rings on her outstretched hand. "Jewels?" she said, smiling. "Yes." "Any woman is the same." "Why?" "I don’t know—it is so," she said, and, raising the deep lusters, she allowed her glance to rest on them as in a dream of opium. He drew from his pocket the ring with the ruby, and held it out. "Try this on." She took it between her finger-tips slowly, looking at him with a glance that was a puzzled frown, and slipped it on her finger. Then she extended her hand gradually to the full length of her white arm against the purple, and half closed her eyes. There was no outward sign; only a deep breath went through her, as though an immense change had taken place in the inner woman. "Now I know what I want to know," he said, watching her closely with almost an animal joy in this sudden revelation of an appetite in her. "It’s a wonderful stone," she said in a whisper; then she drew it off slowly, as though the flesh rebelled, and held it out to him, turning away her eyes. "Keep it." She raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. "You are cleverer than I thought," she said. "Keep it." "Is this for information about Majendie?" she said slowly. "Not for that." "For what, then?" she said steadily. "For a whim." "Thanks; I don’t trust your whims." For all reply, he took her hand and again placed the ring on it. "Wear it," he said. She turned the stone quickly inside her palm as though unable to endure its lure, and looked at him profoundly. "_Are_ you going to pull through?" she said angrily. "Will it make a difference?" he asked, rising, with a quick glance at his watch. She rose in her turn, facing him with a sudden energy. "Do you know the one great mistake you have made?" "What?" "You have condemned yourself to success." "What do you mean by that?" he said. "You must always succeed, and that is terrible! At the first defeat every one will be up in arms against you—because every one wants to see you ruined." "Every one?" he said, looking in her eyes. A second time she took off the ring and gave it to him, and as he protested she said coldly: