"No, I won't go out and find them," Kneedrock refused, pitching his huge bulk down on the window seat. "It's none of my business."
"More's the pity," was Sir George's comment. "I'll tell you what I think. It ought to be your business. That's what every one of us thinks."
An ugly white look overspread the viscount's rugged visage, and the subject was dropped.
Later, however, in the privacy of his wife's room, the duke said more--much more.
"Doody, it's rotten how they go on here about dear Nina." That was how he began it. He repeated himself a great deal, and he appealed to the duchess for verification with every other sentence. But his finish was almost impassioned.
"I'm getting very sick of the whole thing, I'll be dashed if I'm not. Of course she shot her husband, or Kneedrock shot him, and of course Carleigh is in love with his fiancée's mother.
"But I say it's very tiresome to have to hear about 'em all the time. I'm very tired of hearing of 'em all the time. I say, Doody, you know I'm tired of hearing of 'em all the time. Don't you, Doody?"
"Yes," answered the duchess, "and I am, too. I'm sure I don't want to hear any more about them now. Do ring the bell for Olivette, and go to your room."
Monday, of course, meant the breaking up of the party and the conclusion of Nina's mission. She had done what she could and she was delighted to think that for once in her misguided career she had actually performed a service not wholly selfish.
As Carleigh emerged from the breakfast-room, where he and his aunt were among the last, Lady Bellingdown slipped her arm through his, saying:
"Well, my dear boy, we've done you good, haven't we?"
He glanced back over his shoulder to indicate whom he had in mind--for Nina had come down but a minute before--last of all--and said, smiling: "She's a wonder."
"Isn't she? Doesn't she say the most startling things? She's a bomb made animate."
"One is always wondering what will come next," he declared. "I'm wondering it just now."
As he proposed it himself, he might very easily have foreseen it without waste of speculation. They took a long walk--the last of their series of long walks.
"And now," said lover to loved as they went at swinging pace through the park, the staghound as usual at their heels, "where do you go next?"