“What is that to me?”

Resentment sounded in her tone.  She was thinking more readily once more, thanks to that second magical draught, but was nevertheless conscious of a general failing of powers drained by her great fatigue.  She wished devoutly that Victor would have done and let her go....

“Elaine is very careless, leaves her jewels scattered about, hardly troubles to put them away securely at night.  If you should be tempted to appropriate anything, she might not discover her loss for days; and then, again, she might.  And if you were caught—­consider what shame and disgrace!”

“I think I see,” the girl said, slowly, after some difficult thinking.  “You don’t want me to go.”

“To the contrary, I do—­but I want more than anything else in the world that my daughter should be sure of herself and fall into no irreparable error.”

“But I am sure of myself—­I have told you that.”

“Then let us fret no more about it, but accept, and go prepared to enjoy ourselves.  I will send the letter.”

Victor rang, and Shaik Tsin presented himself so quickly that Sofia wondered dully where he could have been waiting.  In the room with them, perhaps?  It wasn’t impossible.  The Chinaman’s thick soles of felt enabled him to move about without making the least noise.

“Have this posted immediately.”

Shaik Tsin bowed deeply, and backed away with the letter.  Unless she turned to watch him, Sofia could not say whether he left the room or not.

She offered to rise.

“If that is all ...”

“Not quite.  There are certain details to be arranged; and I may not see you again before we leave to-morrow afternoon.  We will motor down to Frampton Court—­it’s not far, little more than an hour by train—­starting about half after four, if you can be ready.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Sybil Waring will tell you what to take, and Chou Nu will see to your packing.  Both, by the way, will accompany us.  Sybil’s maid will follow by train.  For myself, I am taking Nogam—­having found that English servants do not take kindly to my Chinese valet.”

“Yes ...”  Sofia uttered, listlessly, wondering why this information should be considered of interest to her.

“And one thing more:  I am forgiven?  You are not cross with me?”

“Why should I be?”

“Because of what happened this afternoon—­when I scolded Karslake for making love to you.”

“Oh,” said Sofia with a good show of indifference—­she was so tired—­“that!”

“Believe me, little Sofia”—­Victor put out a hand to hers, and held her eyes with a compelling gaze—­“boy-and-girl romance is all very well, but there is a greater destiny reserved for you than marriage to a hired secretary, however amiable, personable, and well-meaning.  You must prepare yourself to move in a world beyond and above the common hearthstone of bourgeois domesticity.”