He stared at the floor out of gray eyes grown dull and hopeless. "Phil," whispered his sister, "suppose--suppose--what happened to her father--" "I know." She said again: "It was slow at first, a brilliant eccentricity--that gradually became--something else less pleasant. Oh, Phil! Phil!" "It was softening of the brain," he said, "was it not?" "Yes--he entertained a delusion of conspiracy against him--also a complacent conviction of the mental instability of others. Yet, at intervals he remained clever and witty and charming." "And then?" "Phil--he became violent at times." "Yes. And the end?" he asked quietly. "A little child again--quite happy and content--playing with toys--very gentle, very pitiable--" The hot tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Phil!" she sobbed and hid her face on his shoulder. Over the soft, faintly fragrant hair he stared stupidly, lips apart, chin loose. A little later, Nina sat up in the hammock, daintily effacing the traces of tears. Selwyn was saying: "If this is so, that Ruthven man has got to stand by her. Where could she go--if such trouble is to come upon her? To whom can she turn if not to him? He is responsible for her--doubly so, if her condition is to be--_that_! By every law of manhood he is bound to stand by her now; by every law of decency and humanity he cannot desert her now. If she does these--these indiscreet things--and if he knows she is not altogether mentally responsible--he cannot fail to stand by her! How can he, in God's name!" "Phil," she said, "you speak like a man, but she has no man to stand loyally by her in the direst need a human soul may know. He is only a thing--no man at all--only a loathsome accident of animated decadence." He looked up quickly, amazed at her sudden bitterness; and she looked back at him almost fiercely. "I may as well tell you what I've heard," she said; "I was not going to, at first; but it will be all around town sooner or later. Rosamund told me. She learned--as she manages to learn everything a little before anybody else hears of it--that Jack Ruthven found out that Alixe was behaving very carelessly with some man--some silly, callow, and probably harmless youth. But there was a disgraceful scene on Mr. Neergard's yacht, the _Niobrara_. I don't know who the people were, but Ruthven acted abominably. . . . The _Niobrara_ anchored in Widgeon Bay yesterday; and Alixe is aboard, and her husband is in New York, and Rosamund says he means to divorce her in one way or another! Ugh! the horrible little man with his rings and bangles!" She shuddered: "Why, the mere bringing of such a suit means her social ruin no matter what verdict is brought in! Her only salvation has been in remaining inconspicuous; and a sane girl would have realised it. But"--and she made a gesture of despair--"you see what she has done. . . . And Phil--you know what she has done to you--what a mad risk she took in going to your rooms that night--"