"If I had the nerve, I'd call Browne good and hard," said Britt, over his julep. "It isn't right. It isn't decent. No telling what it will come to. The worst of it is that his wife doesn't blame him. She blames her. They disappear for hours at a time and they've always got their heads together. I've noticed it for a month, but it's got worse in the last week. Poor little Drusilla. She's from Boston, Chase, and can't retaliate. Besides, Deppingham wouldn't take notice if she tried."
"There's one safeguard," said Chase. "They can't elope on this island."
"They can't, eh? Why, man, they could elope in the château and nobody could overtake 'em. You've no idea how big it is. The worst of it is, Deppingham has got an idea that they may try to put him out of the way—him and Drusilla. Awful, isn't it?"
"Perfect rot, Britt. You'll find that it turns out all right in the end. I'd bank on Lady Deppingham's cool little head. Browne may be mad, but she isn't."
"It won't help me any unless both of 'em are mad," said Britt, with a wry face. "And, say, by the way, Saunders is getting to dislike you intensely."
"I can't help it if he loves the only stenographer on the island," said Chase easily. "You seem to be the only one who isn't in hot water all the time, Britt."
"Me and the Princess," said Britt laconically. Chase looked up quickly, but the other's face was as straight as could be. "If you were a real gentleman you would come around once in a while and give her something to talk to, instead of about."
"Does she talk about me?" quite steadily.
"They all do. I've even heard the white handmaidens discussing you in glowing terms. You're a regular matinee hero up there, my—"
"Selim!" broke in Chase. The Arab came to the table immediately. "Don't put so much liquor in Mr. Britt's drinks after this. Mostly water." Britt grinned amiably.