“What do you mean?”

“The assumption that the only way to make a woman take an interest in you is to prevent her speaking to any other man.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that—­” Hickson began, but she interrupted him.

“That, if anything, Ned.”  And she turned to Wickham, who sat on her other side.

Wickham was waiting for a little notice and began instantly.

“I have been taking the liberty of looking at your pearls, Miss Fenimer, and indulging in such an interesting speculation.  Here on the one hand, you are wearing round your throat the equivalent of life, health and virtue for half a hundred working girls, as young, as human, as yourself.  Are we to say this is wrong?  Are we to say that beautiful jewels worn by beautiful women are a crime against society—­”

“One moment, Mr. Wickham,” she said.  “My pearls are imitation and cost eight dollars and fifty cents without the clasp.  But,” she added cruelly, seeing his face fall, “you can say that same thing to your friend Mrs. Almar, because hers are not artificial, though I have heard her assert sometimes that they are,” and turning back to Hickson, who was laboriously trying to carry on a conversation with his host, she interrupted ruthlessly to say, hardly lowering her voice: 

“Why in the world, Ned, did Nancy bring this Wickham man here?  He’s perfectly impossible.”

“Nancy didn’t bring him,” answered her brother innocently.  “I motored out with her myself.”

“She said she wouldn’t come unless he were asked.  Still I know the answer.  Nancy has always had a weakness for blond boys, and last week she was crazy about this one.  Now she has turned against him, she wants to foist him off on us, but I for one don’t intend to help her out—­”

By this time Wickham, aware that he had been rebuffed, had found an explanation for it.  The girl was annoyed at having been forced to admit her pearls were imitation.  He decided to put everything right.

“Miss Fenimer,” he said, and she turned her head perhaps half an inch in his direction, “I think you misunderstood me just now.  My standards are probably different from those of the men you are accustomed to.  To me the fact that your pearls are not real is an added beauty.  I’m glad they’re not—­”

“Thank you,” said Christine, “but I’m not.”  And this time he understood that he had lost her for good.

After dinner, Mrs. Almar, knowing that her innings were over, very effectively prevented Christine having hers, by insisting on playing bridge.  She had an excellent head for cards, and always needed money.  Christine allowed herself to be drawn in, supposing that Riatt would be one of the players, and found herself seated opposite to Hickson and next to Jack Ussher.

Wickham, feeling very much left out and desirous of showing how well accustomed he was to the casual manners of polite society, consoled himself with an evening paper.  Laura Ussher led Riatt to a comfortable corner out of earshot of the bridge-table.