Lady Merivale started violently.  “What do you mean?” she asked, striving to maintain her usual cool, indifferent tones.

He looked down at her in innocent surprise.

“I am commissioned to buy a residence in the Swiss Lakes district for Leroy; and as I happen to know Lady Constance Tremaine is devoted to mountaineering—­most exhausting work, I consider—­well, there is only one construction to be laid.  But, of course, this is in strictest confidence; you will not betray me, I know.”

“Of course not,” said her ladyship mechanically; her mind was working rapidly, so that she hardly heard the rest of Jasper’s purring speech; and that gentleman, highly pleased at the pain he had so evidently inflicted, made a parting epigram and left his poison to do its work in Lady Merivale’s mind.

One by one, the others followed; and Lord Merivale, with an apology to Leroy, returned to his study and the Agricultural Gazette, having his wife and Adrien alone.

With flushed face and outstretched hands, she turned to him reproachfully.

“I thought you had forgotten me.”

“Impossible,” he murmured, as he raised her hand to his lips.  “I have been so bothered with various business matters, and have had so many engagements——­”

“But yet had the time to go to the theatre with that awful creature,” she retorted.  “Then you have been spending a day or two at Barminster.”  She bit her lip savagely in her jealous pain and wounded vanity.  “Adrien,” she entreated, “tell me it isn’t true.”

“To what do you refer?” he asked steadily.

He knew that the struggle had commenced, and he was determined to bring this mock phantasy of love to an end.  If he could not marry the one woman who had shown him what love really meant, he would at least have done with this foolish dalliance.

“Your engagement to that pink-and-white cousin—­Lady——­”

“Be silent,” he commanded, more sternly than he had ever spoken to any man, woman or child in his life.  His face had paled; his eyes were like steel.  The very thought of hearing her name reviled by the jealous woman before him filled him with wrath.

She stood silent, but with flashing eyes, her breast heaving with excitement.

“It is true, then?” she panted.  “You are going to marry her—­tell me the truth——­”

“I did not say so,” he returned, slowly and painfully.

“Then you don’t love her.  Ah, I knew it!” she cried triumphantly.

He did not reply; and she read in his silence the confirmation of her fears.

“Adrien, is it possible—­you love her, and she——­”

“Eveline,” he said, “for the sake of our past friendship”—­she started at the words—­“do not say any more.  You know we have only played with the divine passion.  It has beguiled many a pleasant hour, but I do not think it has been anything more than a pastime.”

“Not to you,” she said almost sullenly.  “But how dare you doubt my feelings?  How dare you insult me?”