"I should like to speak to you for a moment, Algernon," his wife
announced.

Mr. Carraby noticed for the first time that she was carrying a letter
in her hand. He turned at once to his secretary.

"Haskwell," he said, "kindly return in ten minutes."

The young man quitted the room. Mrs. Carraby advanced a few steps
further towards her husband. She was tall, beautifully dressed in the
latest extreme of fashion. Her movements were quiet, her skin a little
pale, and her eyebrows a little light. Nevertheless, she was quite a
famous beauty. Men all admired her without any reservations. The best
sort of women rather mistrusted her.

"Is that the letter, Mabel?" her husband asked, with an eagerness which
he seemed to be making some effort to conceal.

She nodded slowly. He held out his hand, but she did not at once part
with it.

"Algernon," she said quietly, "you know that I am not very scrupulous.
We both of us want success--a certain sort of success--and we have both
of us been content to pay the price. You have spent a good deal of
money and you have succeeded very well indeed. Somehow or other, I feel
to-day as though I were spending more than money."

He laughed a little uncomfortably.