He followed her with the utmost composure, and when she stopped proceeded to divest her of her furs with the deftness of movement habitual to him.

Abruptly she spoke, in her voice a ring of something that was almost ferocity.  “What have you come back for anyway?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly without replying.

But Mrs. Errol was not to be so silenced.  Her hands fastened with determination upon the front of his coat.  “You face me, Napoleon Errol,” she said.  “And answer me honestly.  What have you come back for?  Weren’t there enough women on the other side to keep you amused?”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Women in plenty—­amusement none.  Moreover, I didn’t go to be amused.  Where is Lucas?”

“Don’t you go to Lucas till I’ve done with you,” said Mrs. Errol.  “You come right along to my room first.”

“What for?” He stood motionless, suffering her restraining hands, the beginning of a smile about his lips.

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she said.

“Lead the way then, alma mater!” he said.  “I am very much at your service.”

Mrs. Errol turned without further words, and he, with her sables flung across his shoulder, prepared to follow.  She moved up the stairs as if she were very weary.  The man behind her walked with the elasticity of a cat.

But there was no lack of resolution about her when in her own room she turned and faced him.  There was rather something suggestive of a mother animal at bay.

“Nap,” she said, and her deep voice quivered, “if there’s any right feeling in you, if you are capable of a single spark of affection, of gratitude, you’ll turn around right now and go back to the place you came from.”

Nap deposited his burden on the back of a chair.  His dark face was devoid of the faintest shadow of expression.  “That so?” he drawled.  “I thought you seemed mighty pleased to see me.”

“Lock that door!” said Mrs. Errol.  “Now come and sit here where you can see my face and know whether I am telling the truth.”

He smiled at that.  “I don’t require ocular evidence, alma mater.  I have always been able to read you with my eyes shut.”

“I believe you have, Nap,” she said, with a touch of wistfulness.

“It isn’t your fault,” he said, “that you weren’t made subtle enough.  You’ve done your best.”

He came and sat down facing her as she desired.  The strong electric light beat upon his face also, but it revealed nothing to her anxious eyes—­nothing save that faint, cynical smile that masked so much.

She shook her head.  She was clasping and unclasping her hands restlessly.  “A very poor best, Nap,” she said.  “I know only too well how badly I’ve failed.  It never seemed to matter till lately, and now I would give the eyes out of my head to have a little influence with you.”

“That so?” he said again.

She made a desperate gesture.  “Yes, you sit there and smile.  It doesn’t matter to you who suffers so long as you can grab what you want.”