him as a weapon. He had proved a broken reed. And this failure on his
part was likely to correct for ever her incautious tendencies. That
was what she told herself, with some contempt for men. She did not
tell herself that the use to which she had intended to put Carey was an
unworthy one. Women as beautiful, and as successful in their beauty, as
she was seldom tell themselves these medicinal truths.

She went about as usual, and on several occasions took Lord Holme with
her. And though she saw a light of curiosity in many eyes, and saw lips
almost forced open by the silent questions lurking within many minds,
it was as she had said it would be. The immediate future had been in
Fritz's hands, and he had made it safe enough.

He had made it safe. Even the Duchess of Arkell was quite charming, and
laid the whole burden of blame--where it always ought to be laid,
of course--upon the man's shoulders. Rupert Carey was quite done
for socially. Everyone said so. Even Upper Bohemia thought blatant
intemperance--in a Duke's house--an unnecessary defiance flung at the
Blue Ribbon Army. Only Amalia Wolfstein, who had never succeeded in
getting an invitation to Arkell House, remarked that "It was probably
the champagne's fault. She had always noticed that where the host and
hostess were dry the champagne was apt to be sweet."

Yes, Fritz had made it safe, but:

Circumstances presently woke in Lady Holme's mind a rather disagreeable
suspicion that though Fritz had "come round" with such an admirable
promptitude he had reserved to himself a right to retaliate, that he
perhaps presumed to fancy that her defiant action, and its very public
and unpleasant result, gave to him a greater license than he had
possessed before.

Some days after the early morning tea Lord Holme said to his wife:

"I say, Vi, we've got nothing on the first, have we?"

There was a perceptible pause before she replied.

"Yes, we have. We've accepted a dinner at Brayley House."

Lord Holme looked exceedingly put out.

"Brayley House. What rot!" he exclaimed. "I hate those hind-leg affairs.
Why on earth did you accept it?"

"Dear boy, you told me to. But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you so anxious to be free for the first?"

"Well, it's Miss Schley's _debut_ at the British. Everyone's goin' and
Laycock says--"

"I'm not very interested in Mr. Laycock's aphorisms, Fritz. I prefer
yours, I truly do."

"Oh, well, I'm as good as Laycock, I know. Sti