The younger man lifted his eyes in appeal to the elder.
"Do you understand her, or anything about her?" he asked with pathetic simplicity.
Kneedrock shook his head.
"Come with me," he urged, putting down his paper as he spoke. "Come with me. I'll put you up for a couple of days and you can think it over."
"The duchess has asked me to Puddlewood on Thursday," came the reply, a bit heavily.
"That will be quite all right. Fits in fine."
There was a little pause and Sir Caryll got up and moved uneasily toward the window. There, with his back turned, he halted, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot and pulling at his mustache.
"It's no use," Kneedrock flung after him. "No use at all. She will never marry. She will never marry any one. She couldn't put up with it, don't you know."
Carleigh turned sharply about. "Did she ever kiss you?" he cried. "Could you forget it?"
"Kiss me!" calmly and indifferently. "My dear boy, of course she did. She thinks no more of kisses than other women do of touching finger-tips and saying: 'How are you?' She doesn't take osculation seriously, old chap."