Grange looked up sharply.  “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true all the same,” said Nick indifferently, and forthwith forsook the subject.

He started other topics, racing, polo, politics, airily ignoring his guest’s undeniable surliness, till at last Grange’s uneasiness began to wear away.  He gradually overcame his depression, and had even managed to capture some of his customary courtesy before the end of dinner.  His attitude was quite friendly when they finally adjourned to the library to smoke.

Nick followed him into the room and stopped to shut the door.

Grange had gone straight to the fire, and he did not see him slip something into his pocket as he came forward.

But he did after several minutes of abstraction discover something not quite normal in Nick’s silence, and glanced down at him to ascertain what it was.

Nick had flung himself into a deep easy-chair, and was lying quite motionless with his head back upon the cushion.  His eyes were closed.  He had been smoking when he entered, but he had dropped his cigar half consumed into an ash-tray.

Grange looked at him with renewed uneasiness, and looked away again.  He could not help feeling that there was some moral tension somewhere; but he had never possessed a keen perception, he could not have said wherein it lay.

He retired into his shell once more and sat down facing his host in silence that had become dogged.

Suddenly, without moving, Nick spoke.

His words were slightly more deliberate than usual, very even, very distinct.  “To come to the point,” he said.  “I saw you on the shore this afternoon—­you and Mrs. Musgrave.”

“What?” Grange gave a great start and stared across at him, gripping the arms of his chair.

Nick’s face, however, remained quite expressionless.  “I saw you,” he repeated.

With an effort Grange recovered himself.  “Did you though?  I wondered how you knew I was down here.  Where were you?”

There was an abrupt tremor behind Nick’s eyelids, but they remained closed.  “I was on the top of the cliff, on my own ground, watching you.”

Dead silence followed his answer—­a silence through which the sound of the sea half a mile away swelled terribly, like the roar of a monster in torment.

Then at last Nick’s eyes opened.  He looked Grange straight in the face.  “What are you going to do?” he said.

Grange’s hands dropped heavily from the chair-arms, and his whole great frame drooped slowly forward.  He made no further attempt at evasion, realising the utter futility of such a course.

“Do!” he said wearily.  “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” said Nick swiftly.

“No, nothing,” he repeated, staring with a dull intentness at the ground between his feet.  “It’s an old story, and the less said about it the better.  I can’t discuss it with you or any one.  I think it was a pity you took the trouble to watch me this afternoon.”