Sir Lucien's intervention proved successful. Kazmah's charges became more modest, and Rita no longer found it necessary to deprive herself of hats and dresses in order to obtain drugs. But, nevertheless, these were not the halcyon days of old. She was now surrounded by spies. It was necessary to resort to all kinds of subterfuge in order to cover her expenditures at the establishment in old Bond Street. Her husband never questioned her outlay, but on the other hand it was expedient to be armed against the possibility of his doing so, and Rita's debts were accumulating formidably.  
Then there was Margaret Halley to consider. Rita had never hitherto given her confidence to anyone who was not addicted to the same practices as herself, and she frequently experienced embarrassment beneath the grave scrutiny of Margaret's watchful eyes. In another this attitude of gentle disapproval would have been irritating, but Rita loved and admired Margaret, and suffered accordingly.
 
As for Sir Lucien, she had ceased to understand him. An impalpable barrier seemed to have arisen between them. The inner man had became inaccessible. Her mind was not subtle enough to grasp the real explanation of this change in her old lover. Being based upon wrong premises, her inferences were necessarily wide of the truth, and she believed that Sir Lucien was jealous of Margaret's cousin, Quentin Gray.
 
Gray met Rita at Margaret Halley's flat shortly after he had returned home from service in the East, and he immediately conceived a violent infatuation for this pretty friend of his cousin's. In this respect his conduct was in no way peculiar. Few men were proof against the seductive Mrs. Monte Irvin, not because she designedly encouraged admiration, but because she was one of those fortunately rare characters who inspire it without conscious effort. Her appeal to men was sweetly feminine and quite lacking in that self-assertive and masculine “take me or leave me” attitude which characterizes some of the beauties of today. There was nothing abstract about her delicate loveliness, yet her charm was not wholly physical. Many women disliked her.
 
At dance, theatre, and concert Quentin Gray played the doting cavalier; and Rita, who was used to at least one such adoring attendant, accepted his homage without demur. Monte Irvin returned to civil life, but Rita showed no disposition to dispense with her new admirer. Both Gray and Sir Lucien had become frequent visitors at Prince's Gate, and Irvin, who understood his wife's character up to a point, made them his friends.
 
Shortly after Monte Irvin's return Sir Lucien taxed Rita again with her increasing subjection to drugs. She was in a particularly gay humor, as the supplies from Kazmah had been regular, and she laughingly fenced with him when he reminded her of her declared intention to reform when her husband should return.
 
“You are really as bad as Margaret,” she declared. “There is nothing the matter with me. You talk of 'curing' me as though I were ill. Physician, heal thyself.”
 
The sardonic smile momentarily showed upon Pyne's face, and:
 
“I know when and where to pull up, Rita,” he said. “A woman never knows this. If I were deprived of opium tomorrow I could get along without it.”
 
“I have given up opium,” replied Rita. “It's too much trouble, and the last time Mollie and I went—”
 
She paused, glancing quickly at Sir Lucien.
 
“Go on,” he said grimly. “I know you have been to Sin Sin Wa's. What happened the last time?”
 
“Well,” continued Rita hurriedly, “Monte seemed to be vaguely suspicious. Besides, Mrs. Sin charged me most preposterously. I really cannot afford it, Lucy.”
 
“I am glad you cannot. But what I was about to say was this: Suppose you were to be deprived, not of 'chard', but of cocaine and veronal, do you know what would happen to you?”
 
“Oh!” whispered Rita, “why will you persist in trying to frighten me! I am not going to be deprived of them.”
 
“I persist, dear, because I want you to try, gradually, to depend less upon drugs, so that if the worst should happen you would have a chance.”
 
Rita stood up and faced him, biting her lip.
 
“Lucy,” she said, “do you mean that Kazmah—”
 
“I mean that anything might happen, Rita. After all, we do possess a police service in London, and one day there might be an accident. Kazmah has certain influence, but it may be withdrawn. Rita, won't you try?”
 
She was watching him closely, and now the pupils of her beautiful eyes became dilated.
 
“You know something,” she said slowly, “which you are keeping from me.”
 
He laughed and turned aside.
 
“I know that I am compelled to leave England again, Rita, for a time; and I should be a happier man if I knew that you were not so utterly dependent upon Kazmah.”
 
“Oh, Lucy, are you going away again?”
 
“I must. But I shall not be absent long, I hope.”
 
Rita sank down upon the settee from which she had risen, and was silent for some time; then:
 
“I will try, Lucy,” she promised. “I will go to Margaret Halley, as she is always asking me to do.”
 
“Good girl,” said Pyne quietly. “It is just a question of making the effort, Rita. You will succeed, with Margaret's help.”
 
A short time later Sir Lucien left England, but throughout the last week that he remained in London Rita spent a great part of every day in his company. She had latterly begun to experience an odd kind of remorse for her treatment of the inscrutably reserved baronet. His earlier intentions she had not forgotten, but she had long ago forgiven them, and now she often felt sorry for this man whom she had deliberately used as a stepping-stone to fortune.
 
Gray was quite unable to conceal his jealousy. He seemed to think that he had a proprietary right to Mrs. Monte Irvin's society, and during the week preceding Sir Lucien's departure Gray came perilously near to making himself ridiculous on more than one occasion.
 
One night, on leaving a theatre, Rita suggested to Pyne that they should proceed to a supper club for an hour. “It will be like old times,” she said.
 
“But your husband is expecting you,” protested Sir Lucien.
 
“Let's ring him up and ask him to join us. He won't, but he cannot very well object then.”
 
As a result they presently found themselves descending a broad carpeted stairway. From the rooms below arose the strains of an American melo............