His present sense of these advantages revealed itself in the affability of his greeting to Ralph, and in his off-hand request that the latter should “look up Clare,” who had come over with him to get her winter finery.

“She’s motoring to Italy next week with some of her long-haired friends—­but I’m off for the other side; going back on the Sorceress.  She’s just been overhauled at Greenock, and we ought to have a good spin over.  Better come along with me, old man.”

The Sorceress was Van Degen’s steam-yacht, most huge and complicated of her kind:  it was his habit, after his semi-annual flights to Paris and London, to take a joyous company back on her and let Clare return by steamer.  The character of these parties made the invitation almost an offense to Ralph; but reflecting that it was probably a phrase distributed to every acquaintance when Van Degen was in a rosy mood, he merely answered:  “Much obliged, my dear fellow; but Undine and I are sailing immediately.”

Peter’s glassy eye grew livelier.  “Ah, to be sure—­you’re not over the honeymoon yet.  How’s the bride?  Stunning as ever?  My regards to her, please.  I suppose she’s too deep in dress-making to be called on?  Don’t you forget to look up Clare!” He hurried on in pursuit of a flitting petticoat and Ralph continued his walk home.

He prolonged it a little in order to put off telling Undine of his plight; for he could devise only one way of meeting the cost of the voyage, and that was to take it at once, and thus curtail their Parisian expenses.  But he knew how unwelcome this plan would be, and he shrank the more from seeing Undine’s face harden; since, of late, he had so basked in its brightness.

When at last he entered the little salon she called “stuffy” he found her in conference with a blond-bearded gentleman who wore the red ribbon in his lapel, and who, on Ralph’s appearance—­and at a sign, as it appeared, from Mrs. Marvell—­swept into his note-case some small objects that had lain on the table, and bowed himself out with a “Madame—­Monsieur” worthy of the highest traditions.

Ralph looked after him with amusement.  “Who’s your friend—­an Ambassador or a tailor?”

Undine was rapidly slipping on her rings, which, as he now saw, had also been scattered over the table.

“Oh, it was only that jeweller I told you about—­the one Bertha Shallum goes to.”

“A jeweller?  Good heavens, my poor girl!  You’re buying jewels?” The extravagance of the idea struck a laugh from him.

Undine’s face did not harden:  it took on, instead, almost deprecating look.  “Of course not—­how silly you are!  I only wanted a few old things reset.  But I won’t if you’d rather not.”

She came to him and sat down at his side, laying her hand on his arm.  He took the hand up and looked at the deep gleam of the sapphires in the old family ring he had given her.

“You won’t have that reset?” he said, smiling and twisting the ring about on her finger; then he went on with his thankless explanation.  “It’s not that I don’t want you to do this or that; it’s simply that, for the moment, we’re rather strapped.  I’ve just been to see the steamer people, and our passages will cost a good deal more than I thought.”