"We shouldn't
understand it, even if we saw her act. Therefore, it isn't right for us
to judge her. The world has found her a great actress. She is not
responsible for the plays she acts in."

Stephen turned away and lit his pipe anew. He smoked for a minute or two
furiously. His thick eyebrows came closer and closer together. He seemed
to be turning some thought over in his mind.

"John," he asked, "is it this cursed money that is making you restless?"

"I never think of it except when some one comes begging. I promised a
thousand pounds to the infirmary to-day."

"Then what's wrong with you?"

John stretched himself out, a splendid figure of healthy manhood. His
cheeks were sun-tanned, his eyes clear and bright.

"The matter? There's nothing on earth the matter with me," he declared.

"It isn't your health I mean. There are other things, as you well know.
You do your day's work and you take your pleasure, and you go through
both as if your feet were on a treadmill."

"Your fancy, Stephen!"

"God grant it! I've had an unwelcome visitor in your absence."

John turned swiftly around.

"A visitor?" he repeated. "Who was it?"

Stephen glowered at him for a moment.

"It was the prince," he said; "the Prince of Seyre, as he calls himself,
though he has the right to style himself Master of Raynham. It's only
his foreign blood which makes him choose what I regard as the lesser
title. Yes, he called to ask you to shoot and stay at the castle, if
you would, from the 16th to the 20th of next month."

"What answer did you give him?"

"I told him that you were your own master. You must send word
to-morrow."

"He did not mention the names of any of his other guests, I suppose?"

"He mentioned no names at all."

John was silent for a moment. A bewildering thought had taken hold of
him. Supposing she were to be there!

Stephen, watching him, read his thoughts, and for a moment lost control
of himself.

"Were you thinking about that woman?" he asked sternly.

"What woman?"

"The woman whom we sheltered here, the woman whose shameless picture is
on the cover of that book."

John swung round on his heel.

"Stop that, Stephen!" he said menacingly.

"Why should I?" the older man retorted. "Take up that paper, if you want
to read a sketch of the life of Louise Maurel. See the play she made her
name in--'La Gioconda'!"

"What about it?"

Stephen held the paper out to his brother. John read a few lines and