“You must not blame me,” she went on, softly.  “You know, Kingston, that I like you, that I would give you Sybil willingly under ordinary circumstances.  I don’t want to speak to her if I can help it.  And, Kingston, there is one thing more I must say to you.  It is on my mind.  It keeps me awake at night.  I think that it will make an old woman of me very soon.  If—­if we should be wrong?”

“There is no possibility of that,” he answered, sadly.  “Lord Arranmore is candour itself, even in his selfishness.”

“His face haunts me,” she murmured.  “There is something so terribly impersonal, so terribly sad about it.  He looks on at everything, he joins in nothing.  They say that he gambles, but he never knows whether he is winning or losing.  He gives entertainments that are historical, and remains as cold as ice to guests whom a prince would be glad to welcome.  His horse won that great race the other day, and he gave up his place on the stand, just before the start, to a little girl, and never even troubled to watch the race, though his winnings were enormous.  He bought the Frivolity Theatre, produced this new farce, and has never been seen inside the place.  What does it mean, Kingston?  There must be suffering behind all this—­terrible suffering.”

“It is a law of retribution,” Brooks said, coldly.  “He has made other people suffer all his life.  Now perhaps his turn has come.  He spends fortunes trying to amuse himself and cannot.  Are we to pity him for that?”

“I have heard of people,” she said, looking at him intently, “who are too proud to show the better part of themselves, who rather than court pity or even sympathy will wear a mask always, will hide the good that is in them and parade the bad.”

“You love him still?” he said, wonderingly.

“Kingston, I do.  If I were a brave woman I would risk everything.  Sometimes when I see him, like a Banquo at a feast, with his eyes full of weariness and the mummy’s smile upon his lips, I feel that I can keep away no longer.  Kingston, let us go to him, you and I. Let us see if we can’t tear off the mask.”

He shook his head.

“He would laugh at us!”

“Will you try?”

He hesitated.

“No!  But, Lady Caroom, you have no such debt of bitterness against him as I have.  I cannot advise you—­I would not dare.  But if there is a spark of soul left in the man, such love as yours must fan it into warmth.  If you have the courage—­risk it.”

Brooks left without seeing Sybil again, and turned northward.  In Pall Mall he heard his name called from the steps of one of the great clubs.  He looked up and found Lord Arranmore leisurely descending.

“A word with you, Brooks,” he said, coolly, “on a matter of business.  Will you step inside?”

Brooks hesitated.  It was beginning to rain, and neither of them had umbrellas.

“As you will,” he answered.  “I have an appointment in half-an-hour.”