Arnold held out his hands.  The whole affair was intensely mysterious, and there were many things which he did not understand in the least, but he knew that he was in the presence of a brave man.

“Good night, Count Sabatini,” he said.  “Thank you very much for our dinner.  I am afraid I am an unconverted Philistine, and doomed to the narrow ways, but, nevertheless, I have enjoyed my evening very much.”

Sabatini smiled charmingly.

“You are very British,” he declared, “but never mind.  Even a Briton has been known to see the truth by gazing long enough.  Take care of my little sister, and au revoir!”

Her fingers clutched his arm as they passed along the promenade and down the corridor into the street.  The car was waiting, and in a moment or two they were on their way to Hampstead.  She was beginning to look a little more natural, but she still clung to him.  Arnold felt his head dizzy as though with strong wine.

“Fenella,” he said, using her name boldly, “your brother has been talking to me to-night.  All that he said I can understand, from his point of view, but what may be well for him is not well for others who are weaker.  If you have been foolish, if the love of adventure has led you into any folly, think now and ask yourself whether it is worth while.  Give it up before it is too late.”

“It is because I have so little courage,” she murmured, looking at him with swimming eyes, “and one must do something.  I must live or the tugging of the chain is there all the time.”

“There are many things in life which are worth while,” he declared.  “You are young and rich, and you have a husband who would do anything in the world for you.  It isn’t worth while to get mixed up in these dangerous schemes.”

“What do you know of them?” she asked, curiously.

“Not much,” he admitted.  “Your brother was talking to-night a little recklessly.  One gathered—­”

“Andrea sometimes talks wildly because it amuses him to deceive people, to make them think that he is worse than he really is,” she interrupted.  “He loves danger, but it is because he is a brave man.”

“I am sure of it,” Arnold replied, “but it does not follow that he is a wise one.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Tell me one of those many ways of living which are worth while!” she whispered.  “Point out one of them only.  Remember that I, too, have the spirit of restlessness in my veins.  I must have excitement at any cost.”

He sighed.  She was, indeed, in a strange place.

“It seems so hopeless,” he said, “to try and interest you in the ordinary things of life.”

“No one could do it,” she admitted.  “I was not made for domesticity.  Sometimes I think that I was not made to be wife to any man.  I am a gambler at heart.  I love the fierce draughts of life.  Without them I should die.”

“Yet you married Samuel Weatherley!” Arnold exclaimed.