“What do you mean, Alixe?” he returned, watching her intently.

“What I say.  I have not seen Jack Ruthven for two months.  Do you know what that means?  I have not heard from him for two months.  Do you know what that means?  No?  Well, I’ll tell you, Philip; it means that when I do hear from him it will be through his attorneys.”

He turned slightly paler:  “Why"?”

“Divorce,” she said with a reckless little laugh—­“and the end of things for me.”

“On what grounds?” he demanded doggedly.  “Does he threaten you?”

She made no movement or reply, reclining there, one hand on her wine-glass, the smile still curving her lips.  And he repeated his question in a low, distinct voice—­too low for Neergard to hear; and he was still listening.

“Grounds?  Oh, he thinks I’ve misbehaved with—­never mind who.  It is not true—­but he cares nothing about that, either.  You see”—­and she bent nearer, confidentially, with a mysterious little nod of her pretty head—­“you see, Jack Ruthven is a little insane. . . .  You are surprised?  Pooh!  I’ve suspected it for months.”

He stared at her; then:  “Where are you stopping?”

“Aboard the Niobrara.”

“Is Mrs. Fane a guest there, too?”

He spoke loud enough for Rosamund to hear; and she answered for herself with a smile at him, brimful of malice: 

“Delighted to have you come aboard, Captain Selwyn.  Is that what you are asking permission to do?”

“Thanks,” he returned dryly; and to Alixe:  “If you are ready, Gerald and I will take you over to the Niobrara in the motor-boat—­”

“Oh, no, you won’t!” broke in Neergard with a sneer—­“you’ll mind your own business, my intrusive friend, and I’ll take care of my guests without your assistance.”

Selwyn appeared not to hear him:  “Come on, Gerald,” he said pleasantly; “Mrs. Ruthven is going over to the Niobrara—­”

“For God’s sake,” whispered Gerald, white as a sheet, “don’t force me into trouble with Neergard.”

Selwyn turned on him an astonished gaze:  “Are you afraid of that whelp?”

“Yes,” muttered the boy—­“I—­I’ll explain later.  But don’t force things now, I beg you.”

Mrs. Ruthven coolly leaned over and spoke to Gerald in a low voice; then, to Selwyn, she said with a smile:  “Rosamund and I are going to Brookminster, anyway, so you and Gerald need not wait. . . .  And thank you for coming over.  It was rather nice of you”—­she glanced insolently at Neergard—­“considering the crowd we’re with. Good-night, Captain Selwyn! Good-night, Gerald.  So very jolly to have seen you again!” And, under her breath to Selwyn:  “You need not worry; I am going in a moment.  Good-bye and—­thank you, Phil.  It is good to see somebody of one’s own caste again.”

A few moments later, Selwyn and Gerald in their oilskins were dashing eastward along the coast in the swiftest motor-boat south of the Narrows.