Gray met Rita at Margaret Halley’s flat shortly after he had returned home from service in the East, and he immediately conceived a violent infatuation for this pretty friend of his cousin’s.  In this respect his conduct was in no way peculiar.  Few men were proof against the seductive Mrs. Monte Irvin, not because she designedly encouraged admiration, but because she was one of those fortunately rare characters who inspire it without conscious effort.  Her appeal to men was sweetly feminine and quite lacking in that self-assertive and masculine “take me or leave me” attitude which characterizes some of the beauties of today.  There was nothing abstract about her delicate loveliness, yet her charm was not wholly physical.  Many women disliked her.

At dance, theatre, and concert Quentin Gray played the doting cavalier; and Rita, who was used to at least one such adoring attendant, accepted his homage without demur.  Monte Irvin returned to civil life, but Rita showed no disposition to dispense with her new admirer.  Both Gray and Sir Lucien had become frequent visitors at Prince’s Gate, and Irvin, who understood his wife’s character up to a point, made them his friends.

Shortly after Monte Irvin’s return Sir Lucien taxed Rita again with her increasing subjection to drugs.  She was in a particularly gay humor, as the supplies from Kazmah had been regular, and she laughingly fenced with him when he reminded her of her declared intention to reform when her husband should return.

“You are really as bad as Margaret,” she declared.  “There is nothing the matter with me.  You talk of ‘curing’ me as though I were ill.  Physician, heal thyself.”

The sardonic smile momentarily showed upon Pyne’s face, and: 

“I know when and where to pull up, Rita,” he said.  “A woman never knows this.  If I were deprived of opium tomorrow I could get along without it.”

“I have given up opium,” replied Rita.  “It’s too much trouble, and the last time Mollie and I went—­”

She paused, glancing quickly at Sir Lucien.

“Go on,” he said grimly.  “I know you have been to Sin Sin Wa’s.  What happened the last time?”

“Well,” continued Rita hurriedly, “Monte seemed to be vaguely suspicious.  Besides, Mrs. Sin charged me most preposterously.  I really cannot afford it, Lucy.”

“I am glad you cannot.  But what I was about to say was this:  Suppose you were to be deprived, not of ‘chard’, but of cocaine and veronal, do you know what would happen to you?”

“Oh!” whispered Rita, “why will you persist in trying to frighten me!  I am not going to be deprived of them.”

“I persist, dear, because I want you to try, gradually, to depend less upon drugs, so that if the worst should happen you would have a chance.”

Rita stood up and faced him, biting her lip.

“Lucy,” she said, “do you mean that Kazmah—­”

“I mean that anything might happen, Rita.  After all, we do possess a police service in London, and one day there might be an accident.  Kazmah has certain influence, but it may be withdrawn.  Rita, won’t you try?”