Quarren drew his breath sharply.
"Not that man," she said.
"God knows, Ricky. He's after Strelsa every minute—and he can make himself agreeable. The worst of it is that Strelsa does not believe what she hears about him. Women are that way, often. The moment the whole world pitches into a man, women are inclined to believe him a martyr—and end by discrediting every unworthy story concerning him.... I don't know, but I think it is already a little that way with Strelsa.... He's a clever brute—and oh! what a remorseless man!... I said that once to Strelsa, and she said very warmly that I entirely misjudged him.... I wish Mary Ledwith would come back and bring things to a crisis—I do, indeed."
Quarren said, calmly;
"You don't think Mrs. Leeds is engaged to Sprowl, do you?"
"No.... I don't think so. Sometimes I don't know what to think of Strelsa. I'm certain that she was not engaged to him four weeks ago when she was at Newport."
Quarren gazed out into the sunlit street. It was just four weeks ago that her letters ceased. Had she stopped writing because of worry over the Adamant Trust? Or was there another reason?
"I suppose," said Molly, dabbing at her eyes, "that Strelsa can't pick and choose now. I suppose she's got to marry for sordid and sensible and material reasons. But if only she would choose Sir Charles—I think I could be almost reconciled to her losing you——"
Quarren laughed harshly.
"An irreparable loss to any woman," he said. "I doubt that Mrs. Leeds survives losing me."