“Just one moment, Mr. Carter.  You say that you and I know what marriage is.  How do you reconcile it with your knowledge of Nina, your knowledge of her upbringing, to plan deliberately what would make our marriage—­or any marriage—­foredoomed to failure from the start?  I didn’t spoil Nina, I didn’t form her tastes.  She has thought of herself as an heiress, she has spent money, lived luxuriously.  I only ask a fair chance.  Make it an allowance, if you like.  Keep the matter in the family; don’t blaze to the world that you disapprove!  Many a less-promising marriage has turned out a brilliant success.  She loves me.  I—­I am devoted to her.  I see tremendous possibilities in her!”

“She loves you as a child does, and because she doesn’t know you,” Richard said, inflexibly.  “But you haven’t heard what I propose, Blondin.  Hear me out.  I give you this now, to-day, on condition that before to-night you talk to Nina.  Represent anything you wish to her.  Tell her what you please.  But convince her that she must wait for two years—­with no letters, no meetings, no engagement—­ that’s all.

“On my part, I promise that nobody in the world, not Mrs. Carter, not anybody, will hear of this for two years from to-day, at least.  Meanwhile, we’ll amuse Nina.  Her grandmother wants to take her to Santa Barbara next fall—­Gardiner wants both the youngsters on his ranch this summer, or she may go with me to Brazil.  She’ll have enough to think about.  We’ll not hurt you with her, you may take my word for it.  And I tell you frankly that I shall be deeply grateful.  I’m not paying you for giving her up.  I’m paying you for two years’ delay.  Young Hopper will be at the Gardiners’ this summer—­she likes him, and he likes her!  Well, that’s speculation.”  Richard dismissed it with a movement of his fine hands.  “But we’ll distract her!” he promised.  “Hopper may buy a ranch out there—­that sort of thing might suit Nina down to the ground!”

“Buy it with Nina’s money,” Royal could not help sneering.

Richard eyed him in surprise.

“When Joe Hopper died he left that boy’s mother something in the millions,” he said.  “There’s an immense estate.”  And then, with a reversion to business:  “Come, now, Mr. Blondin.  We understand each other.  Nina’s dining at the Bellamys’ to-night; you’re staying there.  Will you see her?”

The check fluttered to the table between them.  There was a long silence.  Then Blondin ground out his cigarette in a stone saucer, rose, in all the easy beauty of his white summer clothes, his flowing scarf, his dark, romantic locks.  He lifted his straw hat, put it on, picked up his stick, and laid it on the table.  Then he took the check and read it thoughtfully.

“Thank you!” he said.  Yet the shameful thing struck him, an adept now in evading and lying, as surprisingly easy, and as he sauntered away in the June warmth and silence, it was not of Nina, or her father, or even of himself that he was thinking.