She shook her head, smiling.  “When the real thing comes along, all shams must go overboard.  It’s the rule of the game.”

“And this is the real thing?” he questioned.

She made a little gesture as of one who accepts the inevitable. “Je le crois bien,” she said softly.

Lord Saltash made a grimace.  “And I am to give you up without a thought to this bounder?”

“You would,” she replied gently, “if I were yours to give.”

“If you were Lady Jo for instance?” he suggested.

“Exactly.  If I were Lady Jo.”  She looked at him with the faint smile still at her lips.  “It won’t cost you much to be generous, Charles,” she said.

“How do you know what it costs?” He frowned at her suddenly.  “You’ll accuse me of being benevolent next.  But I’m not benevolent, and I’m not going to be.  I might be to Lady Jo, but not to you, ma cherie,—­never to you!” His grin burst through his frown.  “Come!  Sit down!  I’ll get you a drink.”

She turned to the deep settee, and sank down among tigerskins with a sigh.  He opened a cupboard in the panelling of the wall, and there followed the chink of glasses and the cheery buzz of a syphon.  In a few moments he came to her with a tall glass in his hand containing a frothy drink.  “Look here, Juliette!” he said.  “Come to France with me in the Night Moth, and we’ll find Lady Jo!”

She accepted the drink and lay back without looking at him.  “You always were an eccentric,” she said.  “I don’t want to find Lady Jo.”

He sat on the head of the settee at her elbow.  “It’s quite a fair offer,” he said, as if she had not spoken.  “You will—­eventually—­return from Paris, and no one will ever know.  In these days a woman of the world pleases herself and is answerable to none. Mais, Juliette!” He reached down and coaxingly held her hand. “Pourquoi pas?”

She lifted her eyes slowly to his face.  “I have told you,” she said.

“You’re not in earnest!” he protested.

She kept her look steadily upon him.  “Charles Rex, I am in earnest.”

His fingers clasped hers more closely.  “But I can’t allow it.  We can’t spare you.  And you—­yourself, Juliette—­you will never endure life in a backwater.  You will pine for the old days, the old friends, the old lovers,—­as they will pine for you.”

“No, never!” said Juliet firmly.

He leaned down to her.  “I say you will.  This is—­a midsummer madness.  This will pass.”

She started slightly at his words.  The sparkling liquid splashed over.  She lifted the glass to her lips, and drank.  When she ceased, he took it softly from her, and put it to his own.  Then he set down the empty glass and slipped his arm behind her.

“Juliette, I am going to save you,” he said, “from yourself.”

She drew away from him.  “Charles, I forbid that!”