“He caught the morning train to town,” she said quietly. “I knew it, George. Marie’s money-mad. She always has been. And she’s selfish. . . . Don’t stand gaping there, man ! Sit down and light your pipe, and try to think of a millionaire whose waist-measurement isn’t more than forty-six and who . . .”

“Steady, m’dear, steady!” warned the Colonel.

“If I can’t let off steam with my prospective husband,” snapped Lady Mary, “what am I marrying him for? Give me a cigarette, or fetch me a drink, or slap my face . . . . Oh, George, you are a fool! Or am I ? I don’t know. But she broke something in Mannering — I know, I saw it this morning: in his eyes, on his lips. Oh, he took it all right — on top, but only on top.”

The Colonel grew suddenly wise. He slipped his arm round his lady’s shoulders and let her cry.

CHAPTER TWO

SOME EFFECTS

“ALL THIS,” GRUMBLED JIMMY RANDALL — SOMETIMES KNOWN as the Hon. James Randall, of Mortimer Hall, Yampton, Somerset, and 18 Dowden Square, London, W.1, “dates from the time you were with the Overndons, and two and two make four. No woman’s worth it.”

“Ah!” said John Mannering, smiling.

“Ah, yourself!” snapped Randall. “You’ve run through fifteen thousand pounds in the past twelve months . . .”

“Where did you get that information from?” demanded Mannering quickly.

Randall laughed, and left his chair in front of the log-fire. The two men had been talking for half an hour on the subject of Mannering’s activities during the past year. Randall had been pleading, angry and disgusted in turn, but until that moment Mannering had displayed a faint amusement, punctured with a cynicism or an occasional “Ah!” The mention of the money quickened his interest. Randall decided that achievement alone merited a drink, and he was smiling as he poured it.