“Well, we’ll leave that out,” said Ayre smiling.  “Tell him it’s treating him shamefully.”

“That’s more the ticket.  But what if she says ’No’?”

“If she says ‘No’ right out, I’m done,” said Ayre.  “But will she?”

“The devil only knows!” said Lord Rickmansworth.

“Do you think you won’t bungle it?”

“Do you take me for an ass?  I’ll make him move, Ayre; he shall give her a chaste salute before the day’s out.  Old Eugene’s no better than he should be, but I’ll see him through.”

Ayre thought privately that his companion had perhaps other motives than love for Eugene:  perhaps family feelings, generally dormant, had asserted themselves; but he had the wisdom not to hint at this.

“If you can frighten him, he’ll press it on.”

“Do you think I might lie a bit?”

“No, I shouldn’t lie.  It’s awkward.  Besides, you know you wouldn’t do it, and you couldn’t if you tried.”

“I’ll stir him up,” reiterated Rickmansworth.  “Give me my prayer-book and parasol, and I’ll go and find him.”

Ayre ignored what he supposed to be the joke buried in this saying, and saw his friend off on his errand, repeating his instructions as he went.

What Lord Rickmansworth said to Mr. Haddington has never, as the newspapers put it, transpired.  But ever since that date Sir Roderick has always declared that Rick is not such a fool as he looks.  Certainly the envoy was well pleased with himself when he rejoined his companion at dinner, and after imbibing a full glass of champagne, said: 

“To-night, my worthy old friend, you will see.”

“Did he bite?”

“He bit.  That fellow’s no fool.  He saw Kate’s game when I pointed it out.”

“Will he stand up to her?”

“Rather! going to hold a pistol to her head.”

“I wonder what she’ll say?”

“That’s your lookout.  I’ve done my stage.”

Ayre was nearer excitement than he had been for a long while.  After dinner he could not rest.  Refusing to accompany Rickmansworth to the entertainment the latter was bound for, he strolled out into the quiet walks outside the Kurhaus, which were deserted by visitors and peopled only by a few frugal natives, who saved their money and took the music of the band from a cheap distance.  But surely some power was fighting for him, for before he had gone a hundred yards he saw on one of the seats in front of him two persons whom the light of the moon clearly displayed as Kate and Haddington.  At Baden there is a little hillside—­one path runs at the bottom, another runs along the side of the hill, halfway up.  Ayre hastily diverted his steps into the upper path.  A minute’s walk brought him directly behind the pair.  Trees hid him from them; a seat invited him.  For a moment he struggled.  Then, rubesco referens, he sat down and deliberately listened.  With the sophisms by which he sought to justify this action, we have no concern; perhaps he was not in reality much concerned about them.  But what he heard had its importance.