Sir Charles was out there in a launch with Chrysos Lacy. Chrysos fished and Sir Charles baited her hook. "That's a touching sight," said Strelsa, laughing. Molly said crossly: "Well, if you don't want him, for goodness' sake say so!--and let me have some credit with the Lacys for engineering the thing." "Take it, darling!" laughed the girl, "take the credit and let the cash go--to Chrysos!" "How indelicate you _can_ be, Strelsa!" "Oh, I am. I'm in such rude health that it's almost vulgar. After all, Molly, there's an immense relief in getting rid of your last penny and knowing nothing worse can happen to you." "You might die." "I don't care." "Everybody cares whether they live or die." The girl looked at her, surprised. "I don't," she said, "--really." "Of course you do." "But why should I?" "Nonsense, Strelsa. No matter how they crack up Heaven, nobody is in a hurry to go there." "I wasn't thinking of Heaven.... I was just curious to see what else there is--I'm in no hurry, but it has always interested me.... I've had a theory that perhaps to everybody worthy is given, hereafter, exactly the kind of heaven they expect--to Buddhist, Brahman, Mohammedan, Christian--to the Shinto priest as well as to the Sagamore.... There's plenty of time--I'm in no hurry, nor would it be too soon to-morrow for me to find out how near I am to the truth." "You're morbid, child!" "Less this very moment than for years.... Molly, do you know that I am getting well? I wish you knew how well I feel." But Molly was no longer listening. High above the distant hangars where the men had gathered since early morning, a great hawk-like thing was soaring in circles. And already the distant racket of another huge winged thing came to her ears on the summer wind. "I hope Jim will be careful," she said. CHAPTER XIV Into the long stables at South Linden, that afternoon, Langly Sprowl's trembling horse was led limping, his velvet flanks all torn by spurs and caked with mud, his tender mouth badly lacerated. As for his master, it seemed that the ruin of the expensive hunter and four hours' violent and capricious exercise in his reeking saddle had merely whetted his appetite for more violence; and he had been tramping for an hour up and down the length of the library in his big sprawling house when Mr. Kyte, his confidential secretary, came in without knocking. Sprowl hearing his step swung on him savagely, but Kyte coolly closed the door behind him and turned the key. "Ledwith is here," he said. "Ledwith," repeated Sprowl, mechanically. "Yes, he's on the veranda. They said you were not at home. He said he'd wait. I thought you ought to know. He acts queerly." Langly's protruding eyes became utterly expressionless. "All right," he said in dismissal. Kyte still lingered: "Is there anything I can say or do?" "If there was I'd tell you, wouldn't I?"