"Of course you two are old friends--" she began.

And then, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth, she rose hastily, stammered something quite unintelligible about the injured woman upstairs, and precipitately fled.

"I had better go, too," Carleigh murmured, starting to rise. "I--I--" He would have sold his soul to be able to say, "am betrothed to Mrs.

Darling." But he wasn't sure she was going to die, and so he didn't dare.

Nevill Dalgries, who had the place on the other side of him, and being a good friend, was awfully sorry, put out a strong hand and pulled him back into his seat again.

"You can't do anything, old man," he said with a roughness that was kindness. "Finish your tea."

And at that instant Rosamond sank into the proffered seat beside him. So there they sat, side by side, those two, one blazing red, one deathly white, silent and constrained.

And all the rest at the breakfast-table talked feverishly and painfully with a haste and loudness that appeared to them obligatory.

Those who watched say that Sir Caryll drank his tea and ate two slices of b.u.t.tered toast, and that Miss Veynol spooned an egg without upsetting the cup; which may be perfectly true, though neither he nor she was aware of doing any such thing.

What they did they did subconsciously, their conscious minds being very much otherwise engaged. One thing is certain, however, and that is that neither of them spoke, until, happening to look up, Carleigh saw that everybody else had got up and got out and left them quite alone.

He felt then that he simply had to say something, and so he said, as so often happens, the one thing that he shouldn't have said. He asked: "Is your mother here?"

Miss Veynol looked down, shivered slightly, rose, and moved over to a window. Carleigh rose, too, and followed her.

"Mama is in Ireland," she answered at length, in a low, sweet voice.

"She told me before she went--she--" Then she stopped.

He threw his gaze over her from head to feet. He felt bitter and scornful, and yet the memories crowded fast. After all, she was very lovely, and--odd how he had seen her face early this very morning when for all he knew he was dropping to his death!

"What do you think of me, anyway?" he asked at length. "What is your final opinion of us all three?"

She looked up at him. All her shyness seemed suddenly gone. Her eyes met his fearlessly. Yet her voice was very low as she said: "I think that you love mama."

Of course she would think that. If she had ever doubted it his question uttered a minute ago on their remeeting must have convinced her.

He took a backward step and drew in his breath. Upstairs Nina was dying perhaps. On every hand fortune seemed bent on breaking with him. He was lashed, stung, crumpled. He looked at her and truth cowered naked.

"Not at all," he said with biting emphasis. "Perhaps people talk that and you believe it. But I've never thought of such a thing. I have offered myself to Mrs. Darling, and I've given her your ring."

He paused, expectant; but Rosamond just stared at him.

Then he walked out of the room, hurt and--rather frightened.

It had been one of those fearfully ingenious tricks of Fate which she deals out in such a startlingly unexpected manner--this meeting with his whilom fiancee.

Chasing the woman who had the power to make him forget, only to be abruptly thrust, in the very midst of it, under the same roof with her he was striving never to remember, was malevolent cruelty. And it was very awful.

Yes, it would have been much better had he slept five minutes longer.

Then there would have been no escape, and his troubles would have been over.

CHAPTER XX

Fires of One Kind and Another

It was a very miserable morning for Carleigh. It was pretty miserable for every one, seeing that things were all at sixes and sevens, owing to the enforced mingling of two house parties; but the young baronet, with counter emotions tearing things apart deep down in the soul of him, found it especially so.

Out-of-doors was quite impossible. The heavy clouds were unloading their burden in a drenching downpour. Some brave one proposed a tramp to Carfen and a search of the cooling ruins, but found so few volunteers that the project was given over.

Bridge games were started in both the red and yellow drawing-rooms.

Blissmore, the novelist, had induced Nevill Dalgries to oppose him at chess, and the pair sat in silent concentration over board and men in the library.

For a long while Sir Caryll hung about the hall in expectation of a word with Dr. Dodson on his morning visit; only to learn after something like two hours of waiting that the medical man had come and gone during that period of agony in the breakfast-room.

Nevertheless, there was some measure of relief for him in the tidings that Dodson had p.r.o.nounced his patient improving steadily.

Julian Archdeacon had told him this, having had it direct from Cecile.

"He doesn't say that Nina's out of danger; but he does say that with a continued absence of fresh symptoms she very soon will be."

Carleigh sighed and a faint color tinged his wan pallor. He had been pallid as a ghost ever since he told Miss Veynol about the ring. "If I could only see her," he muttered.

But Julian thought that quite impossible.

"It's mostly shock, don't you know," he said, "and everything depends on keeping her quiet."

The relief, small as it was, was not lasting. When he had flung that final ill-considered speech at Rosamond he had really believed Nina's case hopeless.

If she got well Rosamond would be sure to learn that what he said wasn't true, and she would probably hate him all the more for it. Therefore, it was actually imperative that he have a word with Mrs. Darling at the very earliest opportunity.

"I mean to ask Dr. Dodson, at all events," he said. "When will he be here again?"

The Honorable Julian didn't know. He might be over in the afternoon, and, then, just as likely, he might not be over until evening.

"Waldron is burned worse than was thought," he added. "He never gave a sign, and yet he must have been suffering torments. His self-command was nothing short of Spartan."

But at this Carleigh frowned.

"We have thought best to wire for his wife," Archdeacon added.

"His wife!" exclaimed Caryll.

"Yes. Good little woman. Does a lot of slum work in London, and all that sort of thing, you know. Time was too much taken up to come down with him."

So here was a measure of relief from another quarter.

"Did you wire for any of Mrs. Darling's people?"