t he went nowhere. He was in bad odour.
Sir Donald Ulford was almost the only person he saw anything of at this
time. It seemed that Sir Donald had taken a fancy to Carey. At any rate,
such friendly feeling as he had did not seem lessened after Carey's
exhibition at Arkell House. When Carey returned to Stratton Street, Sir
Donald paid him a visit and stayed some time. No allusion was made to
the painful circumstances under which they had last seen each other
until Sir Donald was on the point of going away. Then he said:

"You have not forgotten that I expect you at Casa Felice towards the end
of August?"

Carey looked violently astonished.

"Still?" he said.

"Yes."

Suddenly Carey shot out his hand and grasped Sir Donald's.

"You aren't afraid to have a drunken beast like me in Casa Felice! It's
a damned dangerous experiment."

"I don't think so."

"It's your own lookout, you know. I absolve you from the invitation."

"I repeat it, then."

"I accept it, then--again."

Sir Donald went away thoughtfully. When he reached the Albany he found
Mrs. Leo Ulford waiting for him in tears. They had a long interview.

Many people fancied that Sir Donald looked more ghostly, more faded even
than usual as the season wore on. They said he was getting too old to
go about so much as he did, and that it was a pity Society "got such a
hold" on men who ought to have had enough of it long ago. One night he
met Lady Holme at the Opera. She was in her box and he in the stalls.
After the second act she called him to her with a gay little nod of
invitation. Lady Cardington had been with her during the act, but left
the box when the curtain fell to see some friends close by. When
Sir Donald tapped at the door Lady Holme was quite alone. He came in
quietly--even his walk was rather ghostly--and sat down beside her.

"You don't look well," she said after they had greeted each other.

"I am quite well," he answered, with evident constraint.

"I haven't seen you to speak to since that little note of yours."

A very faint colour rose in his faded cheeks.

"After Miss Schley's first night?" he murmured.

His yellow fingers moved restlessly.

"Do you know that your son told me you would write?" she continued.

She was leaning back in her chair, half hidden by the curtain of the
box.

"Leo!"

Sir Donald's voice was almost sharp and startling.

"How should he--you spoke about me then?"

There was a flash of light in his pa