He hesitated. The calm of her face seemed almost to confuse him. “Well?” she said. “Go on.” “Promise me not to justify anything people are saying, not to justify it with--with that fellow Ulford.” “Good-bye,” she answered, holding out her hand. He recognised that the time for his advice had gone by, if it had ever been. “What a way--what a way for us to--” he almost stammered. He recovered his self-possession with an effort and took her hand. “At least,” he said in a low, quiet voice, “believe it is less jealousy that speaks within me than love--love for you, for the woman you are trampling in the dust.” He looked into her eyes and went out. She did not see him again before he left England. And she was glad. She did not want to see him. Perhaps it was the first time in her life that the affection of a man whom she really liked was distasteful to her. It made her uneasy, doubtful of herself just then, to be loved as Robin loved her. Carey had come back to town, but he went nowhere. He was in bad odour. Sir Donald Ulford was almost the only person he saw anything of at this time. It seemed that Sir Donald had taken a fancy to Carey. At any rate, such friendly feeling as he had did not seem lessened after Carey’s exhibition at Arkell House. When Carey returned to Stratton Street, Sir Donald paid him a visit and stayed some time. No allusion was made to the painful circumstances under which they had last seen each other until Sir Donald was on the point of going away. Then he said: “You have not forgotten that I expect you at Casa Felice towards the end of August?” Carey looked violently astonished. “Still?” he said. “Yes.” Suddenly Carey shot out his hand and grasped Sir Donald’s. “You aren’t afraid to have a drunken beast like me in Casa Felice! It’s a damned dangerous experiment.” “I don’t think so.” “It’s your own lookout, you know. I absolve you from the invitation.” “I repeat it, then.” “I accept it, then--again.” Sir Donald went away thoughtfully. When he reached the Albany he found Mrs. Leo Ulford waiting for him in tears. They had a long interview. Many people fancied that Sir Donald looked more ghostly, more faded even than usual as the season wore on. They said he was getting too old to go about so much as he did, and that it was a pity Society “got such a hold” on men who ought to have had enough of it long ago. One night he met Lady Holme at the Opera. She was in her box and he in the stalls. After the second act she called him to her with a gay little nod of invitation. Lady Cardington had been with her during the act, but left the box when the curtain fell to see some friends close by. When Sir Donald tapped at the door Lady Holme was quite alone. He came in quietly--even his walk was rather ghostly--and sat down beside her. “You don’t look well,” she said after they had greeted each other. “I am quite well,” he answered, with evident constraint.