Carleigh didn't seem to be listening.
"She asked me to say something to you," the other man went on, picking up a copy of the Tatler and fingering its leaves. "Something rather nasty. But I said that I'd say it." He could lie perfectly.
"Something rather nasty?" repeated Sir Caryll, staring.
It happened fortunately that they were quite alone.
"Yes"—Kneedrock nodded—"just that. She wants me to carry you off. You see she's singular when it comes to men. She likes new ones. Nothing like the Tour de Nesle, of course; but just the novelty of the open play amuses her. You see, you have had your turn. That's the long and short of it. She's tired. She wants you to go away."
For a little Carleigh seemed turned to stone. "But she's gone herself," he said finally.
"Oh, yes. Of course she's gone. But you'll follow. Everybody does. I did. And she doesn't want that."
"How do you know?"
"She told me she doesn't. Besides, I know Mrs. Darling. Come, now, you'd better regard her wishes. I've a box of my own six miles from here, and I'm starting in a few minutes. Say you'll join me. I'll tell you some things, and it will be your salvation."
He paused and waited, but the younger man was still dazed.