“In that case,” observed Lansing, “it might be best to shift the centre of gossip. De mortuis nil nisi bonum—­which is simple enough for anybody to comprehend.”

“That is rude, Mr. Lansing,” flashed out Rosamund; and to his astonishment he saw the tears start to her eyes.

“I beg your pardon,” he said sulkily.

“You do well to.  I care more for Alixe Ruthven than—­than you give me credit for caring about anybody.  People are never wholly worthless, Mr. Lansing—­only the very young think that.  Give me credit for one wholly genuine affection, and you will not be too credulous; and perhaps in future you and I may better be able to endure one another when Fate lands us at the same tea-table.”

Boots said respectfully:  “I am sorry for what I said, Mrs. Pane.  I hope that your friend Mrs. Ruthven will soon recover.”

Rosamund looked at Nina, the tears still rimming her lids.  “I miss her frightfully,” she said.  “If somebody would only tell me where she is—­I—­I know it could do no harm for me to see her.  I can be as gentle and loyal as anybody—­when I really care for a person. . . .  Do you know where she might be, Nina?”

“I?  No, I do not.  I’d tell you if I did, Rosamund.”

“Don’t you know?”

“Why, no,” said Nina, surprised at her persistence.

“Because,” continued Rosamund, “your brother does.”

Nina straightened up, flushed and astonished.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“Because he does know.  He sent her to Clifton.  The maid who accompanied her is in my service now.  It’s a low way of finding out things, but we all do it.”

“He—­sent Alixe to—­to Clifton!” repeated Nina incredulously.  “Your maid told you that?”

Rosamund finished the contents of her slim glass and rose.  “Yes; and it was a brave and generous and loyal thing for him to do.  I supposed you knew it.  Jack has been too beastly to her; she was on the verge of breaking down when I saw her on the Niobrara, and she told me then that her husband had practically repudiated her. . . .  Then she suddenly disappeared; and her maid, later, came to me seeking a place.  That’s how I knew, and that’s all I know.  And I care for Alixe; and I honour your brother for what he did.”

She stood with pretty golden head bent, absently arranging the sables around her neck and shoulders.

“I have been very horrid to Captain Selwyn,” she said quietly.  “Tell him I am sorry; that he has my respect. . . .  And—­if he cares to tell me where Alixe is I shall be grateful and do no harm.”

She turned toward the door, stopped short, came back, and made her adieux, then started again toward the door, not noticing Lansing.

“With your permission,” said Boots at her shoulder in a very low voice.

She looked up, surprised, her eyes still wet.  Then comprehending the compliment of his attendance, acknowledged it with a faint smile.