He shook his head.
"I was thinking," he answered.
She laid her fingers upon his arm, a touch so thrilling and yet so delicate.
"Don't you know," she said, "that of all philosophies the essence is to command one's thoughts, to brush away the immaterial, the unworthy, the unhappy. Try and think that life starts with you from to-day. You are one of those few, those very few people, Douglas Jesson, who have before them a future. Try and keep yourself master of it."
A servant stepped out on to the balcony and stood respectfully before them. She looked up frowning.
"What is it, Mason?" she asked. "I told you that I was not seeing any one at all to-night."
"The person, madame," he answered, "is from Scotland Yard, and he says that his business is most important. He has called twice before. He begged me to give you his card, and to say that he will wait until you can find it convenient to spare him a few minutes." She looked at the card—
"Mr. Richard Grey, from Scotland Yard."
Then she rose regretfully.
"What the man can possibly want with me," she said, "Heaven only knows. You will smoke a cigarette, my friend, till I return. I shall not be long."