The coast was thus clear, but Riatt was still absent.

Nancy’s methods were nothing if not direct.  She rang the bell and when the butler appeared she said: 

“Where is Mr. Riatt?”

“In his room, madam.”

“Dressing?”

“No, madam, he is dressed.  Resting, I should say.”

Nancy nodded her head once.  “One moment,” she said; and going to the writing table she sat down and wrote quickly: 

“I should like five minutes’ conversation with you.  Strange to say my motive is altruistic—­so altruistic that I feel I should sign myself ’Pro Bono Publico,’ instead of Nancy Almar.  There is no one down here in the drawing-room at the moment.”

She put this in an envelope, sealed it with sealing wax (to the disgust of the butler who found it hard enough, as it was, to keep up with all that went on in the house) and told the man to send it at once to Mr. Riatt’s room.

She did not have long to wait.  Riatt, with all the satisfaction in his bearing of one who has just bathed, shaved and eaten, came down to her at once.

“Good morning, Pro Bono Publico,” he said, just glancing about to be sure he was not overheard.  “It was not necessary to put this interview on an altruistic basis.  I should have been glad to come to it, even if it had been as a favor to you.”

She looked at him with her hard, dark eyes.  “Isn’t that rather a reckless way for a man in your situation to talk?”

“I was not aware that I was in a situation.”

This was exactly the expression that she had wanted from him.  It seemed to come spontaneously, and could only mean that at least he was not newly engaged.

She relaxed the tension of her attitude.  “Are you really under the impression that you’re not?”

“I feel quite sure of it.”

“You poor, dear, innocent creature.”

“However,” he went on, sitting down beside her on the wide, low sofa, “something tells me that I shall enjoy extremely having you tell me all about it.”

Tucking one foot under her, as every girl is taught in the school-room it is most unladylike to do, she turned and faced him.  “Mr. Riatt,” she said, “when I was a child I used to let the mice out of the traps—­not so much, I’m afraid, from tenderness for the mice, as from dislike of my natural enemy, the cook.  Since then I have never been able to see a mouse in anybody’s trap but my own, without a desire to release it.”

“And I am the mouse?”

She nodded.  “And in rather a dangerous sort of trap, too.”

He smiled at the seriousness of her tone.

“Ah,” said she, “the self-confidence which your smile betrays is one of the weaknesses by which nature has delivered your sex into the hands of mine.  I would explain it to you at length, but the time is too short.  The great offensive may begin at any moment.  The Usshers have made up their minds that you are to marry Christine Fenimer.  That was why you were asked here.”