‘You may be sure she’ll play till the last trump,’ said Eugenie.  ‘Papa!’—­her tone changed—­’is that Elsie’s chair?’

The group to which she pointed was still distant, but Lord Findon, even at seventy, had the eyes of an eagle, and could read an affiche a mile off.

‘It is.’  Lord Findon looked a little disturbed, and, turning, he scanned the terrace up and down before he bent towards Eugenie.

’You know, darling, it’s an awkward business about these two men.  I don’t believe Arthur’s patience will hold out.’

‘Oh yes, it will, papa.  For our sakes, Arthur would keep the peace.’

’If the other will let him!  I used to think, Eugenie, you had tamed the bear—­but, upon my soul!’—­Lord Findon threw up his hands in protest.

‘He’s in low spirits, papa.  It will be better soon,’ said Eugenie, softly, and as she spoke she rose and went down the steps to meet the Welbys.

Lord Findon followed her, tormented by a queer, unwelcome thought.  Was it possible that Eugenie was now—­with her widowhood—­beginning to take a more than friendly interest in that strange fellow, Fenwick?  If so, he would be tolerably punished for his meddling of long ago!  To have snatched her from Arthur, in order to hand her to John Fenwick!—­Lord Findon crimsoned hotly at the notion, all his pride of race and caste up in arms.

Of course she ought now to marry.  He wished to see her before he died the wife of some good fellow, and the mistress of a great house.  Why not?  Eugenie’s distinctions of person and family—­leaving her fortune, which was considerable, out of count—­were equal to any fate.  ’It’s all very well to despise such things—­but we have to keep up the traditions,’ he said to himself, testily.

And in spite of her thirty-seven years a suitable bridegroom would not be at all hard to find.  Lord Findon had perceived that in Egypt, where they had spent the winter and early spring.  Several of the most distinguished men then in Cairo had been her devoted slaves—­ill as she was and at half-power.  Alderney—­almost certain to be the next Viceroy of India—­one of the most charming of widowers, with an only daughter—­it had been plain both to Lord Findon and his stupid wife that Eugenie had made a deep impression upon a man no less romantic than fastidious.  Eugenie had but to lift her hand, and he would have followed them to Syria.  On the contrary, she had taken special pains to prevent it.  And General F,—­and that clever fellow X,—­who was now reorganising Egyptian finance—­and several more—­they were all under the spell.

But Eugenie had this quixotic liking for the ‘intellectuals’ of a particular sort, for artists and poets, and people in difficulties generally.  Well, he had it himself, he reflected, frowning, as he strolled after her; but there were limits.  Marriage was a thing apart; in that quarter, at any rate, it was no good supposing you could escape from the rules of the game.