The bright smile was still on her face as she spoke the last words, for her nature was far too big to be really hurt; but the little rebuke went home sharply, and Margaret felt unreasonably ashamed of herself, considering that Lady Maud had not taken the slightest pains to explain the truth to her.

'I'm so sorry,' she said contritely. 'I'm dreadfully sorry. It was abominably stupid of me!'

'Oh no. It was quite natural. This is not a pretty world, and there's no reason why you should think me better than lots of other women. And besides, I don't care!'

'But surely you won't let your husband get a divorce for such a reason as that without making a defence?'

'Before the Patriarch of Constantinople?' Lady Maud evidently thought the idea very amusing. 'It sounds like a comic opera,' she added. 'Why should I defend myself? I shall be glad to be free; and as for the story, the people who like me will not believe any harm of me, and the people who don't like me may believe what they please. But I'm very glad you showed me that article, disgusting as it is.'

'I was beginning to be sorry I had brought it.'

'No. You did me a service, for I had no idea that any one was going to take advantage of my divorce to make a cowardly attack on my friend--I mean Mr. Van Torp. I shall certainly not make any defence before the Patriarch, but I shall make a statement which will go to the right people, saying that I met Mr. Van Torp in a lawyer's chambers in the Temple, that is, in a place of business, and about a matter of business, and that there was no secret about it, because my husband's servant called the cab that took me there, and gave the cabman the address. I often do go out without telling any one, and I let myself in with a latch-key when I come home, but on that particular occasion I did neither. Will you say that if you hear me talked about?'

'Of course I will.'

Nevertheless, Margaret thought that Lady Maud might have given her a little information about the 'matter of business' which had involved such a large sum of money, and had produced such important consequences.

CHAPTER XI

Mr. Van Torp was walking slowly down the Elm Walk in the park at Oxley Paddox. The ancient trees were not in full leaf yet, but there were myriads of tiny green feather points all over the rough brown branches and the smoother twigs, and their soft colour tinted the luminous spring air. High overhead all sorts and conditions of little birds were chirping and trilling and chattering together and by turns, and on the ground the sparrows were excessively busy and talkative, while the squirrels made wild dashes across the open, and stopped suddenly to sit bolt upright and look about them, and then dashed on again.

Little Ida walked beside the millionaire in silence, trustfully holding one of his hands, and as she watched the sparrows she tried to make out what sort of sound they could be making when they hopped forward and opened their bills so wide that she could distinctly see their little tongues. Mr. Van Torp's other hand held a newspaper, and he was reading the article about himself which Margaret had shown to Lady Maud. He did not take that particular paper, but a marked copy had been sent to him, and in due course had been ironed and laid on the breakfast-table with those that came regularly. The article was marked in red pencil.

He read it slowly with a perfectly blank expression, as if it concerned some one he did not know. Once only, when he came upon the allusion to the little girl, his eyes left the page and glanced quietly down at the large red felt hat with its knot of ribbands that moved along beside him, and hid all the child's face except the delicate chin and the corner of the pathetic little mouth. She did not know that he looked down at her, for she was intent on the sparrows, and he went back to the article and read to the end.

Then, in order to fold the paper, he gently let go of Ida's hand, and she looked up into his face. He did not speak, but his lips moved a little as he doubled the sheet to put it into his pocket; and instantly the child's expression changed, and she looked hurt and frightened, and stretched up her hand quickly to cover his mouth, as if to hide the words his lips were silently forming.

'Please, please!' she said, in her slightly monotonous voice. 'You promised me you wouldn't any more!'

'Quite right, my dear,' answered Mr. Van Torp, smiling, 'and I apologise. You must make me pay a forfeit every time I do it. What shall the forfeit be? Chocolates?'

She watched his lips, and understood as well as if she had heard.

'No,' she answered demurely. 'You mustn't laugh. When I've done anything wicked and am sorry, I say the little prayer Miss More taught me. Perhaps you'd better learn it too.'

'If you said it for me,' suggested Mr. Van Torp gravely, 'it would be more likely to work.'

'Oh no! That wouldn't do at all! You must say it for yourself. I'll teach it to you if you like. Shall I?'

'What must I say?' asked the financier.

'Well, it's made up for me, you see, and besides, I've shortened it a wee bit. What I say is: "Dear G.o.d, please forgive me this time, and make me never want to do it again. Amen." Can you remember that, do you think?'

'I think I could,' said Mr. Van Torp. 'Please forgive me and make me never do it again.'

'Never want to do it again,' corrected little Ida with emphasis. 'You must try not even to want to say dreadful things. And then you must say "Amen." That's important.'

'Amen,' repeated the millionaire.

At this juncture the discordant toot of an approaching motor-car was heard above the singing of the birds. Mr. Van Torp turned his head quickly in the direction of the sound, and at the same time instinctively led the little girl towards one side of the road. She apparently understood, for she asked no questions. There was a turn in the drive a couple of hundred yards away, where the Elm Walk ended, and an instant later an enormous white motor-car whizzed into sight, rushed furiously towards the two, and was brought to a standstill in an uncommonly short time, close beside them. An active man, in the usual driver's disguise of the modern motorist, jumped down, and at the same instant pushed his goggles up over the visor of his cap and loosened the collar of his wide coat, displaying the face of Constantino Logotheti.

'Oh, it's you, is it?' Mr. Van Torp asked the wholly superfluous question in a displeased tone. 'How did you get in? I've given particular orders to let in no automobiles.'

'I always get in everywhere,' answered Logotheti coolly. 'May I see you alone for a few minutes?'

'If it's business, you'd better see Mr. Bamberger,' said Van Torp.

'I came here for a rest. Mr. Bamberger has come over for a few days.

You'll find him at his chambers in Hare Court.'

'No,' returned Logotheti, 'it's a private matter. I shall not keep you long.'

'Then run us up to the house in your new go-cart.'

Mr. Van Torp lifted little Ida into the motor as if she had been a rather fragile china doll instead of a girl nine years old and quite able to get up alone, and before she could sit down he was beside her.

Logotheti jumped up beside the chauffeur and the machine ran up the drive at breakneck speed. Two minutes later they all got out more than a mile farther on, at the door of the big old house. Ida ran away to find Miss More; the two men entered together, and went into the study.

The room had been built in the time of Edward Sixth, had been decorated afresh under Charles the Second, the furniture was of the time of Queen Anne, and the carpet was a modern Turkish one, woven in colours as fresh as paint to fit the room, and as thick as a down quilt: it was the sort of carpet which has come into existence with the modern hotel.

'Well?' Mr. Van Torp uttered the monosyllable as he sat down in his own chair and pointed to a much less comfortable one, which Logotheti took.

'There's an article about you,' said the latter, producing a paper.

'I've read it,' answered Mr. Van Torp in a tone of stony indifference.

'I thought that was likely. Do you take the paper?'

'No. Do you?'

'No, it was sent to me,' Logotheti answered. 'Did you happen to glance at the address on the wrapper of the one that came to you?'

'My valet opens all the papers and irons them.'

Mr. Van Torp looked very bored as he said this, and he stared stonily at the pink and green waistcoat which his visitor's unfastened coat exposed to view. Hundreds of little gold beads were sewn upon it at the intersections of the pattern. It was a marvellous creation.

'I had seen the handwriting on the one addressed to me before,'

Logotheti said.

'Oh, you had, had you?'

Mr. Van Torp asked the question in a dull tone without the slightest apparent interest in the answer.

'Yes,' Logotheti replied, not paying any attention to his host's indifference. 'I received an anonymous letter last winter, and the writing of the address was the same.'

'It was, was it?'