"Leave me to deal with him," she said confidently. Jim flung the book on the floor, and looked at her with clenched hands. "What is this Demetrius to you?" he asked violently. "A puppet I can pull the strings of," she retorted; "and be good enough to remember that you are not in a training-stable." "If that beastly little Tartar----" "My dear Jim," said his wife coolly, "if you ask me about Demetrius, I shall certainly ask you about Lima." Kaimes was taken aback. "Lima," he stammered, flushing to the roots of his fair hair. "What do you mean?" "I mean that you can trust me to ask no questions, if you will mind your own business." "As you are my wife, Demetrius is my business." "Think of me as your widow then," she mocked, "and that I can't be without the aid of Demetrius." "Why can't you speak plainly?" "I might ask you the same question, but"--she picked up the novel and thrust it into Jim's unwilling hands--"I fancy you and I understand one another pretty well." "I won't have any man making love to you." "Very good," said Leah, calmly; "then you must remain a pauper, and my husband. I'm not going to all this trouble to share you with----" "Well, with whom?--out with it!" "I think you can answer that question best, Jim." "Upon my honour----" "Pah!" she said with disgust. "Hadn't we better leave honour out of this shady business we are about to embark in?" "You really mean to----" "I really mean to get that twenty thousand pounds!" "You'll lose me," Jim reminded her uneasily. Leah made a grimace. "My loss is another's gain," she said significantly. "Now go away, Jim. I have to dress in my best frock in order to fascinate Demetrius"; and she vanished into her dressing-room with a provoking laugh. Lord Jim said something about Demetrius that involved the use of unprintable language. Then he slipped the book into the pocket of his shooting-jacket and lumbered downstairs. In spite of his squabbling with Leah, and the existence of some one in Lima, he was furiously jealous of Demetrius, and scowled at the Russian when they met. Demetrius rather liked that scowl, as he guessed the reason, and took it as a tribute to his fascinations. If he had known Lady Jim's real intentions, and that she intended to convert English rather than French fiction into everyday facts, he might not have smiled so victoriously over his coffee. But Demetrius made the fatal mistake of so many clever men: he knew he was clever, and thereby was not what he fancied himself to be. The true secret of success lies, not in knowing how clever oneself is, but how stupid other people are.