"I don't know. I was sure--I am sure now--that the girl cares more for him than for anybody. And yet--and yet I don't believe she is actually in love with him. Several times I supposed she was--or near it, anyway. . . . But they are a curious pair, Austin--so quaint about it; so slow and old-fashioned. . . . And the child is the most innocent being--in some ways. . . . Which is all right unless she becomes one of those pokey, earnest, knowledge-absorbing young things with the very germ of vitality dried up and withered in her before she awakens. . . . I don't know--I really don't. For a girl _must_ have something of the human about her to attract a man, and be attracted. . . . Not that she need know anything about love--or even suspect it. But there must be some response in her, some--some--" "Deviltry?" suggested Austin. His pretty wife laughed and dropped one knee over the other, leaning back to watch him finish his good-night cigarette. After a moment her face grew grave, and she bent forward. "Speaking of Rosamund a moment ago reminds me of something else she wrote--it's about Alixe. Have you heard anything?" "Not a word," said Austin, with a frank scowl, "and don't want to." "It's only this--that Alixe is ill. Nobody seems to know what the matter is; nobody has seen her. But she's at Clifton, with a couple of nurses, and Rosamund heard rumours that she is very ill indeed. . . . People go to Clifton for shattered nerves, you know." "Yes; for bridge-fidgets, neurosis, pip, and the various jumps that originate in the simpler social circles. What's the particular matter with her? Too many cocktails? Or a dearth of grand slams?" "You are brutal, Austin. Besides, I don't know. She's had a perfectly dreary life with her husband. . . . I--I can't forget how fond I was of her in spite of what she did to Phil. . . . Besides, I'm beginning to be certain that it was not entirely her fault." "What? Do you think Phil--" "No, no, no! Don't be an utter idiot. All I mean to say is that Alixe was always nervous and high-strung; odd at times; eccentric--_more_ than merely eccentric--" "You mean dippy?" "Oh, Austin, you're horrid. I mean that there is mental trouble in that family. You have heard of it as well as I; you know her father died of it--" "The usual defence in criminal cases," observed Austin, flicking his cigarette-end into the grate. "I'm sorry, dear, that Alixe has the jumps; hope she'll get over 'em. But as for pretending I've any use for her, I can't and don't and won't. She spoiled life for the best man I know; she kicked his reputation into a cocked hat, and he, with his chivalrous Selwyn conscience, let her do it. I did like her once; I don't like her now, and that's natural and it winds up the matter. Dear friend, shall we, perhaps, to bed presently our way wend--yess?"