A BUTTERFLY 
 ON THE WHEEL 
 
 C. RANGER GULL
 
 f.
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL
 
 'Forgive me, George," she sobbed, "forgive me."
 
 A BUTTERFLY 
 
 ON 
 
 THE WHEEL 
 
 A Novel 
 
 BY C. RANGER GULL 
 
 Author of "A Woman in the Case" etc. 
 
 Founded on the successful play by E. G. Hemmerde, K. C., 
 M. P., and Francis Neilson, M. P. 
 
 WITH PHOTOGRAPHS FROM THE PLAY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY 
 1912
 
 Copyrighted 1912, by 
 WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY 
 
 PRESS OF WILLIAM G. HEWITT, 61-67 NAVY ST., BHOOKLVN, N. Y.
 
 ORIGINAL PROGRAM 
 OF 
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Produced at the 39th Street Theatre, beginning 
 Tuesday Evening, January 9th, 1912 
 
 MR. LEWIS WALLER 
 
 Has the Honor to Submit 
 
 A Butterfly on the Wheel 
 
 By Edward G. Hemmerde, K. C., and Francis Neilson, M. P. 
 Produced under the personal supervision of Lewis Waller 
 
 The Rt. Hon. George Admaston, M. P Eille Norwood 
 
 Roderick Collingwood Charles Quartermaine 
 
 Lord Ellerdine Evelyn Beerbohm 
 
 Sir John Burroughes, President of the Divorce Court, 
 
 Herbert Budd 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe, K. C., M. P., Admaston's leading counsel, 
 
 Sidney Valentine 
 
 Gervaise McArthur, K. C., Collingwood's leading counsel, 
 
 Lewis Broughton 
 Stuart Menzies, K. C, Collingwood's leading counsel, 
 
 Denis Cleugh 
 Jacques, waiter at the Hotel des Tuileries. ..Walter Cluxton 
 
 Jean DuBois, detective John Wilmer 
 
 Foreman of the jury James Stuart 
 
 Footman Frank Dossert 
 
 Lady Attwill Olive Temple 
 
 Pauline, Miss Admaston's maid Loretta Wells 
 
 . George Admaston's wife Madge Titheradge 
 
 General Manager Victor Lewis 
 
 Business Manager John Wilmer 
 
 Stage Manager Lewis Broughton
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Forgive me, George," she sobbed, "forgive me". 
 
 Pacing Page 
 
 "We all got on the wrong train and we all stayed 
 
 the night at this hotel" 95 
 
 "Don't you see, man, if you call in the court to 
 
 break her wings, you'll only drive her to me!" 120 
 
 "He caught her in his arms in his strong arms". 240 
 
 04i
 
 PREFACE 
 
 OF all the English plays that have come to this country 
 none has created more of a sensation than "A 
 BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL," and without question 
 will be received the same by the public over the entire 
 country as it has been received in New York. The play 
 opened at the Thirty-ninth Street Theatre on Tuesday 
 evening, January gth, and has played to "standing room 
 only" at every performance since. 
 
 The story in book form has been done by C. Ranger 
 Gull (pen name), a writer who has already gained a big 
 reputation as an author both in America and England, and 
 the success of "A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL" goes without 
 saying. 
 
 THE PUBLISHER.
 
 y 
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE 
 WHEEL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was shortly after midnight in the great Hotel 
 des Tuileries at Paris. 
 
 Beyond the fagade of the hotel the gardens of 
 the Tuileries were sleeping in the warm night. To 
 the left the Louvre etched itself in solid black against 
 the sky, and all up and down the Rue de Rivoli 
 carriages and automobiles were still moving. 
 
 But in the great thoroughfare the tide of vehicles 
 and foot passengers was perceptibly thinning. Paris 
 is a midnight city, it is true, and at this hour the 
 heights of Montmartre were thronged with pleasure- 
 seekers, dancing and supping till the pale dawn 
 should come with its message of purity and re- 
 proach. 
 
 But down in the Rue de Rivoli even the great 
 hotels were beginning to prepare for sleep. 
 
 One enters the Hotel des Tuileries, as every one 
 i
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 knows, through the revolving doors, passes into the 
 entresol, and then into the huge glass-domed lounge 
 with its comfortable fauteuils, its big settee, its little 
 tables covered with beaten copper, and its great 
 palms, which seem as if they had been cunningly 
 enamelled jade-green by some jeweller. 
 
 The lounge was now almost empty of people, 
 though the shaded electric light threw a topaz- 
 coloured radiance over everything. 
 
 In one corner just where the big marble stair- 
 case springs upwards to the gilded gallery two 
 men in evening dress were sitting together. 
 
 They were obviously English, tall, thin, bronzed 
 men, as obviously in the service. As a matter of 
 fact, one was Colonel Adams, attached to the Vice- 
 roy's staff in India, the other a civilian's secretary 
 Henry Passhe. 
 
 They were both smoking briar pipes delighted 
 that the lateness of the hour allowed them to do so 
 in the lounge; and before each man was a long 
 glass full of crushed ice and some effervescing water 
 innocent of whisky. 
 
 A man in black clothes, obviously a valet, came 
 up to Colonel Adams. 
 
 "I've put everything ready in your room, sir," he 
 said. "Is there anything else?" 
 
 "No, there is nothing else, Snell," the soldier 
 answered. "You can go to bed now." 
 
 2
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The man was moving away when Adams called 
 him back. 
 
 "Oh, by the way, Snell, did you find out what I 
 asked you? It is Mrs. Admaston who is staying 
 here, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, she is here with her maid, and " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 The man seemed to hesitate slightly, but at length 
 he spoke: "Mr. Roderick Collingwood is here too, 
 sir." 
 
 "Is he, by Jove !" Adams said, more to his friend 
 than to his servant. "Very well, Snell. Good 
 night." 
 
 The valet withdrew, and Colonel Adams puffed 
 vigorously at his pipe for a minute or two. 
 
 "The the Mrs. Admaston?" the civilian asked. 
 
 Colonel Adams nodded. "The great, little Peggy 
 herself," he said; "none other. Surely you've met 
 her, Passhe?" 
 
 "I was introduced to her some months ago at 
 a Foreign Office reception," the younger man an- 
 swered ; "but I really can't say that I know her. I've 
 never been to any of the Admastons' parties. In 
 fact, my dear Adams, I am a little bit out of things 
 in town now. Ask me anything about any of the 
 Indian set and I can tell you, but as far as society 
 goes in London I am a back number. I won't say, 
 though, that I haven't heard this and that about 
 
 3
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the Admastons. One can't go anywhere without 
 hearing their names. However, I know nothing 
 of the rights or wrongs of the story if story there 
 is at all. But certainly every one has heard this 
 man Collingwood's name mentioned in connection 
 with that of Mrs. Admaston. Who was she, any 
 way ? You know everything about everybody. Tell 
 me all about them." 
 
 Colonel Adams sipped his Perrier quietly, and 
 his brown, lean face became unusually meditative. 
 
 "Aren't you sleepy?" he said. 
 
 "Can't sleep, confound it!" Passhe replied. 
 "Liver. Have lunch, take an afternoon nap, and 
 then can't get to sleep at night for the Lord knows 
 how long." 
 
 "I know," Adams said sympathetically. "Liver 
 is the very devil. That's the worst of India. Now, 
 there is nothing, my dear chap, that I should enjoy 
 more at this moment than a two-finger peg of whis- 
 ky. Can I take it? Damn it, no! I should have 
 heartburn for hours that's India! But since you 
 are not sleepy, and I am sure I'm not, I will tell 
 you about the Admastons." 
 
 The colonel's pipe had gone out. He relit it, 
 pressed down the ashes with the head of a little 
 silver pencil-case which he took from his waistcoat 
 pocket, sent out a cloud of fragrant blue-grey 
 smoke, leant back in his arm-chair, and began. 
 
 4
 
 "Admaston," Colonel Adams began, "is one of 
 the most hard-working Johnnies of the day. He's 
 as rich as what-d'you-call-him, of course, but he 
 hasn't used his wealth to make his position in Parlia- 
 ment or to get him his place in the Cabinet. He's 
 done it by sheer ability, by Jove! He's of an old 
 family, but there haven't been any members of it in 
 big political positions to help him over the heads of 
 those who have to shift for themselves. 
 
 "He was at Harrow with me, though considerably 
 my junior, and I remember he played cricket with 
 an energy that deserved a much higher batting 
 average than he got. He wasn't a studious youth 
 by any means, though he learnt enough to know 
 his way about. He was still at school and I had 
 just passed into Sandhurst when his father died and 
 left him a huge fortune. Then he went to Oxford 
 New College it may have been, or possibly the 
 House. I don't think he did anything much at Ox- 
 ford. I'm told by men who were up with him that 
 the sense of the enormous responsibility which fell 
 on him after his father's death, and the anxieties of 
 having to manage a great estate and a huge business, 
 spoilt him for the schools and rather put him off 
 cricket. He might have got into the Eleven, but 
 he didn't care enough about it to try hard." 
 
 "A bit phlegmatic in temperament?" Passhe 
 asked. 
 
 5
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "That's it," replied Colonel Adams. "Nothing 
 seemed to move him much. If ever a man was 
 born with a silver spoon in his mouth, George 
 Admaston was the chap. But I don't believe he 
 cared particularly whether his spoon was silver or 
 pewter, by Jove! Just a plain fellow of frugal 
 habits. I am told that when he met the deputa- 
 tion from the Northern Division of Lancashire, 
 which went up to town to ask him to contest that 
 constituency, after the interview one of the local 
 Johnnies said, 'Mr. Admaston was so nice that he 
 might be nobody.' At anyrate, George has found 
 his metier in politics. Three years in opposition 
 gave him a great reputation as a quick and ready 
 debater. He is a great asset to his party now, and 
 at by-elections he's the night-before-the-poll man." 
 
 "But what about his wife?" said the civilian. 
 
 "I'm coming to that, Henry," Adams answered. 
 "And if I am a bit long-winded you've jolly well 
 brought it on yourself. It's like this. George's 
 father was the head of Admaston, Grainger & Co., 
 the big City financiers. Old Grainger had a daugh- 
 ter, much younger than George Admaston. Peggy 
 Grainger was only a tiny little girl when Admaston's 
 father died. I'm told that the old men when they 
 were together would chaff each other about their 
 children. Old Grainger used to say that they must 
 certainly marry keep the firm together, and so on, 
 
 6
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 don't you know. In fact, the last letter that George 
 ever got from his father referred to old Grainger's 
 notion that George should marry Peggy. Now, 
 Peggy's mother was a Frenchwoman, a Mile. Guil- 
 lou, and the girl was educated in France. George 
 hadn't been long in the Cabinet when old Grainger 
 brought Peggy to London. She was about nineteen 
 then, and the prettiest, most flirtatious, whimsical 
 little butterfly of a thing that you could possibly 
 imagine. Well, her father established Peggy in a 
 big house in St. James's huge retinue of servants 
 and so forth. All London began to talk about the 
 rich Miss Grainger. The girl spent just what she 
 liked her father encouraged her to do it ; there was 
 really nothing else to be done with the money. But 
 whenever George came to the house and he saw a 
 lot of the Graingers the first year when Peggy came 
 to London the old boy was always hinting to him 
 that he ought to marry Peggy. 
 
 "One evening Admaston was called off the 
 Treasury Bench in the House to speak at the tele- 
 phone. He thought it was Peggy, but it wasn't. 
 It was her old maid, Pauline, who is here with her 
 in this hotel to-night, and who has looked after her 
 all her life nearly. Pauline said that old Grainger 
 had just passed in his cheques, by Jove! He was 
 a big fleshy fellow always did himself top hole. 
 He'd made a big dinner, laughed at a joke like any- 
 
 7
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 thing with his daughter, had a stroke, and was cool- 
 ing by ten o'clock." 
 
 "And then?" Henry Passhe asked. 
 
 "Well, of course, Peggy was left quite alone. 
 There were no relatives. In fact, there was nobody 
 except this old nurse, Pauline, a woman of about 
 forty. Mrs. Grainger had been a chronic invalid, 
 and she had left the girl in charge of the 'bonne.' 
 Old Grainger often used to say that Pauline was 
 more of a mother to Peggy than even his wife had 
 been, and after his death Peggy relied upon the 
 woman for almost everything. She's been with her 
 ever since, and is more like a mother to her still 
 than a servant. Pauline, in fact, took charge of 
 the household, looked after the servants in every 
 way, and controlled everything. It was a curious 
 menage. 
 
 "One day Peggy and Admaston met at a country 
 house for a week-end party. Nobody knows ex- 
 actly how it happened, but at anyrate George pro- 
 posed and Peggy accepted him. I remember the 
 fuss they made about it in the society papers ful- 
 some, sickenin' sort of hog-wash they wrote. 'Love 
 at first sight,' and all that sort of thing. 'Little 
 Peggy was to be the wife of a Prime Minister' 
 'they adored each other,' etc. But I'll eat my hand 
 if they did anything of the kind. They simply 
 remembered the wishes of their fathers and saw it 
 
 8
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 was best to consolidate their huge commercial in- 
 terests. I daresay Peggy felt very lonely and George 
 felt very sorry for her. At anyrate, the engage- 
 ment was announced. 
 
 "George had an aunt has her still, I suppose 
 the rich Miss Admaston, a damned old cat who 
 gives thousands to foreign missions. I've met some 
 of the missionaries of her particular gospel-shop in 
 India, and a nice lot of touts they are too. Well, 
 the old cat was fearfully cut up by the news of the 
 engagement. She thought Peggy was far too 
 French and frivolous for George, and, of course, 
 Peggy has always been rather go-ahead. For my 
 part, I don't care what they are saying now, I don't 
 think there is an ounce of vice in the girl. 
 
 "It's gettin' rather late, Henry, and I'm afraid 
 I'm boring you ?" 
 
 "Not a bit; go on, do," the secretary answered. 
 
 "Very well. George's engagement to Peggy seri- 
 ously affected the lives of two people who are 
 deucedly well known in society. One of them was 
 Lady Attwill, widow of 'Clipper' Attwill, who scup- 
 pered his yacht and himself too somewhere in the 
 Mediterranean a thorough bad hat, Clipper was. 
 Lady Attwill had been setting her cap at George 
 for a long time. Every one knew it but George. 
 It was a regular joke of one season. She couldn't 
 get hold of him, though, despite everything she 
 
 9
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 could do. Georg-e hadn't an idea of what the woman 
 wanted. He was really fond of her. He looked 
 on her as a very dear friend, and he took all her 
 kindnesses and so forth just in that light, with a 
 calm complacency that must have sent her raving at 
 times. Of course, all Lady AttwiU's friends did 
 their very best to bring the two together upon every 
 possible occasion; and when George steered clear 
 and proposed to Peggy, every one said the poor, 
 dear chap was one of the craftiest politicians on 
 the Front Bench. And all the time, Henry, I'll lay 
 you what you like that Admaston was as innocent 
 as a canary. 
 
 "There were two people, I said, who were seri- 
 ously affected by George's engagement. Well, the 
 other was Roderick Collingwood, who's staying in 
 the hotel now, as Snell has just told us. 
 
 "Colling everybody calls him Colling knew 
 Peggy's governor. He's a bally millionaire also, 
 and he used to have a good many dealings with 
 the firm. Collingwood travels about a great deal 
 always has done, and he first met Peggy when 
 she was a flapper of fifteen at old Grainger's place 
 near Chantilly old Grainger used to run horses a 
 lot in France. 
 
 "Collingwood has always been an extraordinary 
 sort of chap; he was then, it appears. Like any 
 other young man of great wealth, he found every- 
 
 10
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 thing done for him, anything he liked ready to his 
 hand, and simply let himself go. When Peggy's 
 father died, Colling was going it hell-for-leather 
 just about as fast as they're made. Of course, 
 Peggy knew nothing of the real facts. But she 
 heard gossip and hints, and one night she taxed 
 him with the way he was living, referring specially 
 to one or two of his more recent escapades. He 
 admitted there was some truth in what she said, 
 and, if what they say is true, made her some sort 
 of a promise of reformation. At anyrate, he pulled 
 up; there's no doubt of that. 
 
 "Afterwards the two met fairly regularly, and I 
 was staying at Lord Ellerdine's place in Yorkshire 
 when I believe Collingwood told Peggy of the good 
 influence she had been, and showed himself as a re- 
 formed rake, by Jove! I think there's no doubt 
 at all that he would have proposed to the girl if 
 George Admaston had not forestalled him. They 
 say Collingwood was frightfully cut up. At any- 
 rate, he wasn't in England when the marriage took 
 place. 
 
 "It was a great wedding. Everybody who was 
 anybody was there, only excepting Collingwood 
 and Lady Attwill. In their case, I remember that 
 people said they were falling back on their own 
 reserves; but that was pure scandal, of course. 
 When Collingwood was in Spain, Lady Attwill was 
 
 ii
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 in Switzerland. As a matter of fact, they were 
 both great friends ; and no doubt when Clipper went 
 down in his yacht and left Lady Attwill very badly 
 off, Collingwood was quite generous to her. 
 
 "Well, to cut a long story short I see it's nearly 
 one o'clock, Admaston and his wife spent their 
 honeymoon in Italy Rome, I think it was, or 
 Florence. Shortly after their return George intro- 
 duced his long and complicated bill on National 
 Roads. It had over a hundred clauses. Ill-natured 
 people said that he married in order to have an 
 excuse to get a holiday in which to draft his meas- 
 ure. At anyrate, after the introduction of the bill 
 George became the absolute centre of the political 
 strife of the day. He worked harder than ever. 
 His party had been in office for three years, and 
 their declining favour urged him on to rouse his fol- 
 lowers in the House and in the country to tackle 
 some necessary reforms before the ensuing General 
 Election. In fact, for months after his marriage 
 Admaston seemed to live for his Department and 
 the Front Bench. He was hardly ever seen with 
 Peggy. 
 
 "On her part, Peggy went everywhere, and soon 
 the gossips had it that Admaston was disappointed, 
 while his wife lived a really butterfly life. 
 
 "Mrs. Admaston's conduct certainly puzzled the 
 gossips. No one could say with any sort of cer- 
 
 12
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 tainty that she did anything wrong. Even her best 
 friends generally the first persons to give one away 
 only laughed when they were questioned, and said, 
 'It's only Peggy.' She and Roderick Collingwood 
 met again and again, renewing their old friendship. 
 After the marriage it was said that Collingwood 
 had a very bad time. There was a broad wicked 
 streak in him, and everybody assumed that he had 
 gone back to his old fast living. Well, at anyrate, 
 Peggy took him up again. She was the kind that 
 either had to be mothered or have someone she 
 could mother herself. George, apparently, wasn't 
 very much about, and so she started once more 
 in the effort to exert a benign influence over an 
 erratic chap like Collingwood. Of course, people 
 said on all sides that it was a very dangerous game 
 to play. 
 
 "Old-fashioned people shook their heads and fore- 
 told all sorts of trouble for the little butterfly that 
 fluttered so near to the flame which every one sup- 
 posed was burning perpetually in Collingwood's 
 heart. 
 
 "About this time Lady Attwill returned to Eng- 
 land and sought out George Admaston. What she 
 did quite upset the calculations of the people who 
 talk. She became very attentive to George, and yet, 
 at the. same time, managed to get about a good bit 
 with Peggy. In fact, she seemed in a sort of way 
 
 13
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 to console Admaston and to be encouraging his 
 wife. Society has been perplexed by the whole busi- 
 ness for a considerable time. No one knows what 
 to make of the position. They all met, for instance, 
 at Ellerdine's for the shooting. Admaston ran down 
 for a week-end only. Then during the late winter, 
 after a long autumn session, rumours flew thick and 
 fast, and everybody seemed to be waiting for the 
 storm to break. Why there should be a storm no- 
 body really seemed to know. Collingwood and 
 Peggy have been talked about to the exclusion of 
 almost every other subject. They're talked about 
 now. London and the Faubourg Saint Honore is 
 buzzing with them. And here, my dear Passhe, you 
 and I away up at the Tuileries for a merry week 
 of theatres in Paris, and we find Peggy staying here 
 and Collingwood, too, by Jove! what! what! 
 Damn it, Passhe, you're asleep!" 
 
 A long-drawn and not entirely unmelodious snore 
 proclaimed that Colonel Adams's long recital had 
 somewhat wearied the civilian, who was not "in 
 society."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 MRS. ADMASTON'S sitting-room at the Hotel des 
 Ttiileries was a large and beautiful apartment, one 
 of the best in the hotel. Save for the long French 
 windows, which were now, at midnight, covered 
 with curtains of green tussore silk, there was noth- 
 ing distinctively foreign about the room. The best 
 French hotels nowadays have all adopted English 
 and American standards of comfort. The stove, 
 the uncarpeted and slippery parquet floor, the im- 
 possible chairs, and a ceiling painted to resemble 
 a nightmare of a fruiterer's shop, are all tilings of 
 the past. 
 
 Electric lights in softly shaded globes threw a 
 pleasant yellow radiance over everything. A fire 
 of cedarwood logs glowed on the tiled hearth, and 
 a great bunch of lilac stood in a copper bowl upon 
 a small mahogany table which was placed between 
 two doors which faced the one leading to Mrs. Ad- 
 maston's bedroom. 
 
 Some tall silver candlesticks stood upon the 
 Broadwood piano; and there were others, in which 
 the candles were not lit, upon brackets on either 
 side of the telephone. 
 
 15
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 It was just upon midnight when the door of Mrs. 
 Admaston's bedroom opened and her confidential 
 maid and companion came into the room. Pauline 
 Toche was a woman of some forty years of age. 
 Her black hair streaked with grey was drawn tightly 
 back from her forehead. The face, a little hard and 
 watchful perhaps, nevertheless showed signs of 
 marked intelligence. The eyes had something of 
 the ferocity but also the fidelity of a well-trained 
 watch-dog. She was dressed unassumingly enough 
 in black, and she wore an apron also of some black 
 material. 
 
 Such a face and figure may be seen a dozen times 
 in any Breton village, and more than once her 
 friends had said to Mrs. Admaston that Pauline 
 seemed to require the coif of her country the 
 snowy white and goffered col which is worn over 
 the shoulders ; a pair of sabots even ! 
 
 The maid was a Breton woman, a daughter of 
 one of the millers of Pont-Aven, and preserved still 
 all the characteristics of that hardy Celtic race. 
 
 As the maid entered the sitting-room there was 
 a knock at the door, and in response to her "Entrez" 
 a waiter came into the room. He was an odd- 
 looking person with brilliant red hair rather a rare 
 thing in France, but cropped close to his head in 
 the French manner, so that it seemed to be almost 
 squirting out of his scalp. The man, with his naj> 
 
 16
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 kin over his arm, his short Eton jacket, and boots 
 soled with list, was dressed just like any other 
 waiter in the hotel, but somehow or other there was 
 something unsual in his aspect. 
 
 He carried a tray, and went up to a small round 
 table, gleaming with cut-glass and silver, on which 
 supper had been laid. 
 
 "Are you quite sure there is no train from Chalons 
 before morning?" Pauline asked the man in French. 
 
 "No train before five o'clock, mademoiselle," the 
 man replied. "The last fast train reaches Paris at 
 eight- forty." 
 
 The Breton woman nodded. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, gazing at him rather 
 keenly; and then suddenly "You're not French, 
 are you?" 
 
 With great precision, almost as if he was prac- 
 tising something learnt by rote and not entirely 
 natural to him, the waiter clicked his heels together, 
 spread out the palms of his hands, and bowed. 
 
 "Mais oui, mademoiselle," he said. 
 
 Pauline shook her head slightly. 
 
 "You do not deceive me," she said. "There is 
 something about you you are a Frenchman?" 
 
 The waiter had been piling plates up on a tray. 
 He put the tray down on the table, smiled with 
 a total change of manner, and answered her. 
 
 "No," he said with a grin. 
 17
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I knew it," Pauline said. "Is it then that you 
 are Irish, M. Jacques?" 
 
 "Most certainly not," replied the waiter. 
 
 "I figure to myself that you are English?" 
 
 Jacques came up still closer to the maid, his voice 
 dropped, and his manner became confidential. "Not 
 even quite English, mademoiselle," he said. "I'm 
 a Scotsman. I was born at Ecclefechan." 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" said Pauline; "Eccle ! What 
 
 a name of barbarity! I did not know that there 
 were such names. La! la! But your name, mon- 
 sieur, your name Jacques?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle speaks English?" 
 
 "Quite well," Pauline replied. 
 
 "Well, you see, miss, I've been here a long time, 
 and I am a great favourite with the English visitors. 
 It would never do to tell them that I'm a Scotsman, 
 and that my real name is Jock. You see, they like 
 to practise their French on me. The management 
 always send me to wait upon English visitors. Of 
 course, I can understand what they mean, and it 
 flatters them to think that they're really speaking 
 French. I heard an old lady the other day talking 
 to her daughter. 'My dear/ she said, 'those extra 
 French lessons at the High School have not been 
 wasted. That nice, attentive French waiter under- 
 stands you .perfectly' ; and so I did of course, miss, 
 though when she wanted the mussels she said, 'Es- 
 
 18
 
 ker voos avvy des moulins ?' And when she wanted 
 the pastry she called it 'tapisserie' instead of 'patis- 
 serie.' So you see my French name is one of my 
 great assets, though you, mademoiselle, saw through 
 me very easily." Here the waiter once more re- 
 lapsed into his best French manner and made a 
 flourishing little bow. "Do you stay long in Paris, 
 mademoiselle?" he asked, going back to the table 
 and beginning to remove the dishes. 
 
 "I can't say," Pauline replied. "As a matter of 
 fact, we are here quite by accident. We are really 
 going to Switzerland." 
 
 "The wrong train ?" inquired the waiter. 
 
 "Yes, that was it," Pauline answered. "We took 
 the wrong train, and our party got divided some- 
 where." 
 
 "What bad luck!" Jacques answered. Then he 
 gave a rather searching glance at Pauline. "But 
 surely M. Collingwood knows the Continent?" he 
 asked. 
 
 The maid gave an almost imperceptible start, and 
 went up to the fireplace, where she began to pull 
 about the flowers in one of the vases. "Oh yes, I 
 think so," she answered, in a voice which strove to 
 appear quite indifferent to the question. 
 
 "Well, I can tell you," the waiter went on "I 
 can tell you that M. Collingwood knows the Con- 
 tinent as well as a Cook's agent. He's always trav- 
 
 19
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 elling about. You can see his name in the Riviera 
 lists, in the Paris Daily Mail or the New York 
 Herald. He's at Nice for the races. He's at Monte 
 Carlo for the pigeon-shooting. He's at Marienbad 
 for a cure, or climbing mountains in the Bernese 
 Oberland. He is everywhere, is M. Collingwood. 
 He was staying here last year, for instance." 
 
 The maid turned slowly from the fire and looked 
 towards the supper-table. 
 
 "Yes, yes?" she said with some eagerness. "He 
 is here often? At this hotel?" 
 
 "I can remember him being here three times," 
 the man replied. And there was something rather 
 furtive in his look, something which seemed to speak 
 of a suppressed curiosity and watchfulness. Many 
 waiters in smart hotels, both in London and in Paris, 
 have this look the veritable expression of Paul 
 Pry. "Have you been long with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Admaston ?" 
 
 "I've been many years with madame," Pauline 
 replied. And then, speaking rather suddenly, "You 
 seem to have a very good memory, Mr. Jock 
 Jacques." 
 
 "It is necessary," the man answered, with all the 
 dryness of a Scotsman. 
 
 "And yet sometimes," Pauline replied, "it is 
 necessary not to have a good memory." 
 
 "Perhaps," the waiter answered. "Certainly 
 
 20
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 sometimes discretion is the better part of recol- 
 lection," giving her a look of great slyness as he 
 spoke. 
 
 Pauline shrugged her shoulders. There was a 
 note of veiled contempt in her voice. "To forget 
 easily is sometimes very convenient, n'est-ce pas?" 
 she said. 
 
 "When it is worth more than a good memory," 
 he answered. 
 
 "Doubtless you are very well off, Mr. Jock," 
 Pauline continued, and this time the sneer in her 
 voice was hardly veiled. 
 
 At this the waiter began brushing the crumbs 
 from the table very vigorously. "I'm only a poor 
 waiter," he said. 
 
 "Then surely that must be your own fault ? There 
 ought to be many opportunities in a hotel of this 
 sort of making a good use of a convenient mem- 
 ory?" 
 
 "Well, yes, you're right there," came from the 
 man, with a rather ill-favoured leer. "But, you see, 
 I am too sentimental for that." 
 
 Pauline laughed in answer, and not very pleas- 
 antly. "Don't tell me," she said. "I've been in 
 Scotland for the shooting of the grouse. There 
 is no Scotsman too sentimental to make money. 
 What part of Scotland did you say you came from ? 
 La ! la ! la ! And at your age, too !" 
 
 21
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "On the contrary, the older I grow the more 
 sentimental I become." 
 
 Pauline shook her head. "Mon Dieu !" she said ; 
 "every one knows that sentiment ends at forty." 
 
 The waiter, a quick-witted rogue enough, seemed 
 to be thoroughly enjoying this midnight conversa- 
 tion. He stood with one arm akimbo, the other 
 resting on the table, and grinned like a vulgar Meph- 
 istopheles. "If sentiment ends at forty," he said, 
 "you, mademoiselle, will suffer from it for a long 
 time to come." 
 
 "Ma foi, no! No suffering for me," Pauline re- 
 plied. "I'm a very practical person. It would take 
 a great deal to make me sentimental." 
 
 "I wonder how much?" the man answered. "A 
 nice little hotel with a good trade, say?" 
 
 Pauline shrugged her shoulders. "No, that would 
 mean work. I am used to seeing a life of sentiment 
 without work." 
 
 The waiter once more began to clear the table. 
 "It is a pity we see so much of what we cannot 
 have," he answered, rattling the coffee-cups and 
 silver. 
 
 Pauline made no reply to this, but stood by the 
 fireplace in silence watching the waiter, and showing 
 plainly by her manner that the conversation was 
 over and that she was waiting for him to go. 
 
 22
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Suddenly she started violently, as Jacques did 
 also. 
 
 The heavy mahogany door leading to the corri- 
 dor outside was flung open, and a short, thick-set, 
 bearded Frenchman came briskly into the room. 
 There was nothing particularly remarkable about 
 him. He might have been an ordinary commercial 
 traveller, save for a pair of singularly alert eyes, 
 which glanced rapidly hither and thither and took 
 in the whole room in one comprehensive sweep. 
 This was done with lightning-like rapidity, and 
 then the fellow's face assumed an expression of 
 great surprise a little bit overdone and too forced 
 to seem real. 
 
 "A thousand pardons!" he said, with a bow. 
 "The wrong room ! My mistake ! I am very sorry. 
 Accept my apologies." 
 
 With that he once more glanced round the room 
 and left it, though with not quite the alacrity of 
 his entrance, closing the door quietly behind him. 
 
 But into the quiet room something strangely dis- 
 turbing had come. 
 
 It was no longer a confidential maid gossiping 
 with the casual waiter of a smart hotel. The air, 
 which had before been charged with little suspicions, 
 toy fencings, as it were, between people of no great 
 importance, was now informed with something 
 more pressing, more imminent, more real. 
 
 23
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Pauline herself positively staggered back from 
 the fireplace towards the table, and nearer to the 
 waiter. Her brown face became grey, she seemed 
 for a moment to lose control of herself, while the 
 ferret eyes of the waiter watched her with an ex- 
 cited glitter in them. 
 
 "That man!" . . . The exclamation came from 
 Pauline almost like a cry. "That man!" 
 
 Jacques was all bent to attention. He hurried 
 up to the woman. "Yes, yes?" he said. 
 
 "Do you know who he is?" Pauline asked. "Have 
 you seen him before, M. Jacques ?" 
 
 The man watched her keenly. "I don't know, 
 mademoiselle," he answered in a guarded voice. 
 
 "That man, I say have you seen him before? 
 ... I remember." 
 
 The waiter hastened to agree, obviously wishing 
 to discover the reason of Pauline's agitation. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "Now you mention it, made- 
 moiselle, I remember too. He was outside there 
 in the corridor just after I had shown M. Col- 
 lingwood and you and madame to your rooms." 
 
 "Was that when we arrived?" Pauline asked. 
 Her brown hands were trembling, her eyes were 
 informed with anxiety. 
 
 Jacques bent his head forward. The two were 
 vis-cl-vis he watched her intently. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 24
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Then Pauline seemed to lose all her caution. She 
 threw up her hands and her face became wrinkled 
 with excitement. 
 
 "La! la!" she cried, "but he was looking at ma- 
 dame's boxes at Boulogne." . . . 
 
 With quiet but hurried steps she went up to the 
 door leading to the corridor, turned the handle 
 gently, flung it open and gazed out. 
 
 There was obviously nobody there, for in a mo- 
 ment she returned, closed the door, and once more 
 confronted the waiter with a grey and troubled face. 
 
 "Que diable fait-il?" she said in a frightened 
 voice. "But M. Jacques, what can it mean?" 
 
 Again the ugly leer came over the garqoris face. 
 "Sentiment," he said. 
 
 The middle-aged Breton woman pressed both 
 hands to her heart with one of those wild and ex- 
 pressive Celtic gestures which seem so exaggerated 
 to English folk, but which are, nevertheless, so truly 
 expressive of emotion. 
 
 "Madame !" she cried. 
 
 "I was not thinking of madame," Jacques an- 
 swered quickly. 
 
 As if clutching at a hope, Pauline made a tremen- 
 dous effort to get in key with her tormentor. 
 
 "No, no!" she said with an affectation of bright- 
 ness. "What ? Is it that you were thinking of me ? 
 Merci ! that would be funny !" 
 
 25
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Sans doute. That's what they say in England 
 when they advertise 'No followers.' ' 
 
 The woman caught the last word. Her face had 
 been strained in anxious thought. 
 
 "Followers!" she said. "Even the English do 
 not expect followers from London to Paris." 
 
 By this time Jacques had filled his tray, had folded 
 up the shining white table-cloth and placed it over 
 his pyramid of plates. 
 
 "Mademoiselle is too modest," he said, moving 
 towards the door, but still watching Pauline in- 
 tently. 
 
 The creature's ears seemed literally to twitch with 
 greed of news as he crossed the great quiet room. 
 
 Pauline was speaking to herself. "It's queer," 
 she said. "I do not like that. Everything has 
 gone wrong to-day. First we nearly missed the 
 train. Then on the boat we were all seasick. Then 
 the douanier was a suspicious fool. Then at 
 Boulogne we got on the wrong train and lost Lord 
 Ellerdine and Lady Attwill " 
 
 A little hard chuckle of amusement came from 
 the retiring waiter, and as Pauline turned to him 
 in indignation a distant voice called her name : 
 
 "Pauline!" 
 
 "Madame!" 
 
 "Good night, mademoiselle," the waiter said, one 
 hand supporting the heavy tray, the other upon the 
 
 26
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 handle of the door. "Good night, mademoiselle. 
 Remember that Jock from Ecclefechan has a good 
 memory." 
 
 Pauline was trembling, but she turned to the 
 fellow. "Good night, Jock from " She splut- 
 tered in her throat, laughed artificially, shut the 
 door after the man, and then turned eagerly towards 
 the door which led to Mrs. Admaston's bedroom. 
 
 There was a note of tremendous relief in her 
 voice as she cried out "Madame!" once more. 
 
 The door from the bedroom opened and Mrs. 
 Admaston entered. 
 
 She was a slim, girlish-looking woman, with a 
 cascade of long dark hair falling over her shoulders. 
 
 The face was small, the complexion of it rose- 
 brown, the eyes dark wells of laughing light, the 
 lips twin rosebuds with a sense of humour. 
 
 She was wearing a long wrap, half tea-gown, 
 half dressing-gown, of topaz-coloured silk, and 
 round her slender waist was a cord of light-blue 
 and gold threads ending in two large tassels of gold. 
 
 Now there was something half tired, half petu- 
 lant, and wholly puzzled about her face as she swept 
 into the room. 
 
 "It's no use," she said in a rippling musical voice ; 
 "it isn't a bit of use, Pauline! I can't go to sleep. 
 In fact, I'm not in the least sleepy." 
 
 She looked round the room and sighed. 
 27
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "What a barn of a place this is!" she said. "I 
 hate those green curtains. They're so horribly con- 
 scious of the colour scheme. And then the topaz- 
 shaded lights over the lamps it's all so dreadfully 
 wearing. And in my room, too, Pauline, it's simply 
 horrid. It reminds me of a sarcophagus, or a mau- 
 soleum, or some appalling place like that. And the 
 bed is too low! I don't think much of this room, 
 but after all it's nicer in here." 
 
 She sank down with a sigh into an arm-chair. 
 
 "Yes," she said once more, "it really is much 
 nicer in here. Make me cosy, Pauline, and do my 
 hair." 
 
 She had brought two ivory brushes into the room, 
 and placed them on the table. Now she pointed to 
 them with a little hand as sweetly, faintly pink as 
 the inside of a sea-shell. The light caught the broad 
 wedding ring of dull gold as she did so. 
 
 Pauline took up the brushes and went up to her 
 mistress. "I thought you wouldn't like the bed," 
 she said, with the brusque familiarity of an old serv- 
 ant and friend. "In fact, I knew you wouldn't like 
 it directly we arrived. You always wanted to sleep 
 up in the air." 
 
 "Tiens, Pauline ! I don't want to sleep anywhere 
 to-night. Soothe me, make me comfortable. Be a 
 good Pauline!" 
 
 The elder woman took up the brushes and stroked 
 28
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the shining hair with tender, loving hand. "It's 
 been an upsetting day," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Admaston gave a sigh of relief as the kind 
 hands busied themselves about her hair. 
 
 "Upsetting!" she cried; "that's it just the word. 
 I am upset. Everything has been upset. Lord El- 
 lerdine will be fearfully upset. Oh, Pauline, just 
 fancy our getting into the wrong train!" 
 
 The maid did not answer anything, but went on 
 with her work. 
 
 "It was all owing to that fool of a Customs of- 
 ficer," the girl continued in a less strained voice. 
 "And turning my things upside down! The way 
 he upset my clothes was perfectly disgraceful. And 
 before Mr. Collingwood, too! And all for half a 
 dozen boxes of cigarettes ! Keeping us there, paying 
 their beastly tariff, until the last moment!" 
 
 Pauline put the brushes down upon the table and 
 came round to the front of the chair. She looked 
 critically at her mistress's hair. "Yes," she said; 
 "but, after all, it was very lucky the porters put 
 the boxes in the Paris train." 
 
 "Wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 "What a bit of luck!" 
 
 Pauline left her mistress for a moment and went 
 into the bedroom. She returned with a bottle of 
 eau-de-cologne and a handkerchief. Sprinkling 
 
 29
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 some of the spirit upon it, she held it to Mrs. Ad- 
 maston's forehead. 
 
 "There!" she said. "You seem tired, my dear; 
 that will do you good. It was very clever of Mr. 
 Collingwood not to have your boxes registered at 
 Charing Cross." 
 
 For a moment or two Peggy Admaston leant back 
 in the arm-chair with closed eyes. "Yes, wasn't it?" 
 she said drowsily. There was a pause for a moment 
 or two, arid then suddenly the girl twisted round in 
 her chair, caught hold of the elder woman's arm and 
 looked at her searchingly. 
 
 "Pauline! what did you mean then?" she said. 
 
 "What did I mean, madame?" Pauline asked. 
 
 Peggy nodded. "Do you think well, I suppose 
 he forgot?" 
 
 "Pauline raised her eyebrows. "Eh, bien," she 
 said, "they do not as a rule let you forget to register 
 at Charing Cross." 
 
 Peggy rose f rO m the chair and began to walk up 
 and down the sitting-room. Her little bronze bed- 
 room slippers peeped in and out from her trailing 
 draperies of topaz-coloured silk. One slender wrist 
 was clasped by an old Moorish bracelet of dull silver, 
 the intricate filigree work studded here and there 
 with Balas rubies. With her long hai r coiled loosely 
 in a shining coronet upon her head, her whole ex- 
 pression an atmosphere she exhaled of sprightly 
 
 30
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 innocence, she seemed indeed a fragile little butter^ 
 fly. Something of the sort crossed the mind of the 
 faithful Breton woman. She sighed, and unper- 
 ceived her hand went up to her bodice, where she 
 wore a little silver cross. 
 
 Suddenly Peggy stopped and turned towards the 
 maid. 
 
 "Pauline," she said, "you naughty old thing! I 
 do believe you suspect something." 
 
 "No, madame," Pauline answered quickly, and 
 there was something almost sulky in her tone. 
 
 Peggy went up to her and put her bare white arm 
 upon her shoulder, leaning upon her caressingly. 
 
 "You do," she said. "Oh, but I know you do! 
 When you say 'No, madame/ like that, I always 
 know that there's something wrong." 
 
 "I only think of you, cherie," Pauline said, hold- 
 ing the little hand, which was like a thing of carved 
 ivory. 
 
 Peggy gave a half-sigh and once more began to 
 walk up and down the room. 
 
 "You old silly, I know well that you only think 
 of me," she said; "but tell me, what is it?" 
 
 "What is what?" 
 
 Peggy smiled mischievously. "There again !" she 
 said. "That's just the way you do when you want 
 me to coax you. Pauline, be nice to me! Now, 
 
 31
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 what is it ? Tell me what you suspect. What about 
 the boxes?" 
 
 "Well, I do not like Lady Attwill," Pauline re- 
 plied slowly. 
 
 "Oh, but Pauline !" she said. 
 
 "It is no use, madame ; I cannot be two-faced with 
 you. I am not able to conceal anything. I must 
 speak straight out. I never could hide anything 
 from you, and now it is no use trying. I really 
 can't do it." 
 
 Her voice had risen towards that high and almost 
 whining note of excitement and protest which is so 
 peculiarly characteristic of the Bretons. 
 
 "Good gracious ! what an outburst for you ! What 
 has Lady Attwill done? What on earth has she to 
 do with the boxes?" 
 
 Pauline made a gesture with her hands. "But 
 what an innocent!" she said, in half-humorous de- 
 spair. "You never see things. You are just as 
 confiding I mean ignorant of people as you were 
 when you were twelve years old. Madame, Lady 
 Attwill is no friend of yours." 
 
 "But that is absurd, Pauline," Peggy answered. 
 "Lady Attwill is devoted to me. I am certain of it." 
 
 The maid wrinkled up her face, pushed out her 
 lips, and nodded her head to emphasise her words. 
 "Indeed! indeed, madame! Well, tell me this. 
 Would she have kept dodging Lord Ellerdine out 
 
 32
 
 of the way at Charing Cross and afterwards at 
 Boulogne if she was your friend?" 
 
 Peggy pouted. "I suppose she wanted to be alone 
 with Lord Ellerdine," she said. 
 
 "Jamais! she can be alone with him at her flat 
 she need not wait to be alone with him at a public 
 railway station." 
 
 Peggy laughed mischievously. "I suppose, 
 Pauline, you think that's one to you," she said. 
 
 "Tais-toi!" said the old woman, both voice and 
 manner growing more serious every moment. 
 
 "Well, go on," Peggy replied petulantly. 
 
 Pauline's voice became as impressive as she knew 
 how to make it. 
 
 "I am sure Lady Attwill knew that Mr. Colling- 
 wood did not want Lord Ellerdine in the way. At 
 Boulogne it was just the same. Lady Attwill's 
 things were examined quickly, and then off she went 
 with Lord Ellerdine in the Swiss express, and we 
 didn't see them again. She went out of sight. 
 Now, tell me, was not that strange?" 
 
 "Heavens ! how hot it is !" Peggy said. "Shall I 
 have a cigarette ? Yes, I really think I will. Fetch 
 me my cigarette-case, Pauline. It is on the dressing- 
 table in my bedroom." 
 
 In a moment the Breton woman returned with a 
 dainty little case of gold with a monogram of sap- 
 phires in one corner. Peggy took a cigarette, lit 
 
 33
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 it, and inhaled a breath of the fragrant smoke with 
 great satisfaction. Then she began her noiseless 
 walk up and down the room again. 
 
 "Certainly," she said suddenly, "Lady Attwill is 
 not a person to go out of sight for nothing." 
 
 Pauline sneered. "Oh, miladi is a convenience," 
 she said. "M. Collingwood has only to raise his 
 little finger and she will do anything." 
 
 "You mean that she is fond of him?" 
 
 "Of his money, rather." 
 
 "Pauline, that is really perfectly awful of you." 
 
 Again Pauline sneered. "She's a poor widow, 
 madame. Lord Attwill left her nothing. Oh, I 
 know! I always find out. She has a flat at three 
 hundred pounds, an electric brougham, a box at 
 the opera, and a little place at Henley. Lord Eller- 
 dine is not so rich as that. M. Collingwood is very 
 rich very very very." 
 
 f Peggy stopped in her walk now and faced Pauline, 
 who had been sitting upon the settee. "You mean 
 she gets money from Mr. Collingwood ?" she asked. 
 
 The maid rose and came up to her mistress, touch- 
 ing her arm imploringly. "Oh, madame," she said 
 with deep feeling, "do be careful. I think only of 
 you. Don't trust Lady Attwill. She is no friend 
 of yours. She has never forgiven you for marrying 
 M. Admaston, and she would bring mischief be- 
 tween you both if she could." 
 
 34
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Pauline, you mustn't say that," Peggy replied 
 gently. 
 
 "But, madame, it is true. She wanted to marry 
 monsieur herself, and she is mad because you came 
 in her way. And if she can get you out of her way 
 she will." 
 
 "Pauline, you are terrible," Peggy said, still in 
 the same light voice, and with a half-pitying, half- 
 humorous smile such as one gives to an importunate 
 child. 
 
 The maid took no notice. "Remember, madame," 
 she went on, "it was Lady Attwill who planned 
 this trip to the Engadine. It was her idea to go 
 with Lord Ellerdine and M. Collingwood. And 
 now where are we? I ask you, where are we? In 
 Paris, and she and Lord Ellerdine in the express 
 near Switzerland by now. Madame, listen to me! 
 Let us go home to-morrow; make some excuse to 
 M. Collingwood any will do." 
 
 At last the Butterfly seemed a little impressed. 
 There was such real earnestness, so much under- 
 lying meaning, in Pauline's voice that she paused 
 and her eyes became thoughtful. 
 
 "It does seem strange," she said. 
 
 Pauline nodded. "N'est-ce pas ? I feel as if you 
 were in a trap." 
 
 The girl shivered, and her voice became pleading. 
 35
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Oh, Pauline, do watch me ! Look after me ! 1 
 have no one now but you!" 
 
 The old bonne kissed the delicate, shrinking little 
 figure. "La ! la !" she said. "With my last breath 
 I will shield you ! Nevertheless, you are a mischief 
 and make some men mad. Oh, the things they say 
 about you ! But it is only play." 
 
 "Only play?" 
 
 "That is all, cherie; I am sure of it." 
 
 Peggy went up to the fireplace. "Sometimes," 
 she said, "I think it is very foolish play. I only 
 hope that it won't end in tears." She looked down 
 at the logs smouldering now and with no more 
 flame of rose-pink and amethyst 
 
 "Tears? For you? Never!" 
 
 Peggy turned half round. "Pauline I am going 
 to be sensible. I shall turn over a new leaf. I shall 
 become a grande dame, give great entertainments, 
 hold court at Admaston House in Hampshire, and 
 at Castle Netherby then I shall not have time to 
 make men mad !" 
 
 Pauline clapped her hands. "That will be splen- 
 did !" she said. "That will make him so happy !" 
 
 "Who, my husband?" 
 
 "Exactement. Monsieur adores you." 
 
 "I wonder?" Peggy said slowly, more to herself 
 than to Pauline. 
 
 The maid nodded. "Madame," she went on, "he 
 36
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 is a great big dog. You can do anything with him. 
 He will never bite nor snarl, nor show even a little 
 bit of his teeth." 
 
 "Perhaps it would be better if he would," Peggy 
 replied in a rather broken voice. "I am so lonely, 
 Pauline. Sometimes I think that his politics- don't 
 leave even a little corner for me." 
 
 "Bien !" said Pauline with a chuckle. "You would 
 not feel lonely, madame, unless you loved him." 
 
 Peggy went up to the piano, which was open, and 
 struck two or three resonant chords. "Certainly 
 there is something in that," she said musingly. 
 
 "Yes, madame," Pauline replied, "he is a man, 
 and you are proud of him. He is so different from 
 all the others." 
 
 Peggy's idle ringers rattled out a little trilling 
 catch from the Chanson Florian. Suddenly she 
 stopped and turned her head swiftly. "You do not 
 like Mr. Collingwood ?" she asked, watching Paul- 
 ine's face intently. 
 
 "Ma Doue !" Pauline answered in her native Bre- 
 ton, "but I like M. Collingwood well enough. All 
 the women that there are like M. Collingwood. He 
 is a terrible flirt, but he is not wicked. But madame 
 must be careful, that is all. He loves madame not 
 as he loves the others." 
 
 Peggy closed the lid of the piano with a bang. 
 
 37
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Now, Pauline," she said, "don't be silly. Off you 
 go to bed. I feel ever so much better now." 
 
 The maid gathered up the brushes and the bottle 
 of eau-de-cologne from the table and took them into 
 Mrs. Admaston's room. Then she returned. "Good 
 night, madame," she said. "If you want me, that 
 little bell there rings in my room. Boone nuit. 
 Dormez bien, cherie." 
 
 She kissed her mistress and left the room. 
 
 Peggy remained alone.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MRS. ADMASTON pulled aside the long curtains of 
 green silk. She turned the oblong handle which re- 
 leased two of the windows, pulled it towards her, 
 and drank in the fresh night air. 
 
 How fragrant and stimulating it was. How pure, 
 and how different from the horrid, scented air of the 
 sitting-room ! 
 
 " 'From the cool cisterns of the midnight air my 
 spirit drinks repose,' " Peggy quoted to herself; and 
 she did, indeed, seem to be bathed by a sweet and 
 delicate refreshment, a cleansing, reviving air, which 
 washed all hot and feverish thoughts away and made 
 her one with the stainless spirit of the night. 
 
 The black masses the black, blotted masses of 
 the trees in the Tuileries gardens cut into the sky- 
 line. But even now, late as it was, innumerable 
 lights twinkled over Paris, and a big honey-coloured 
 moon, which shamed the firefly lights below, and 
 seemed almost like a harvest moon, had risen and 
 was staring down upon the City of Pleasure. 
 
 In front of the window was a balcony, and, lightly 
 clad as she was, the girl went out upon it and with 
 
 39
 
 an impulsive gesture stretched out her arms to where 
 the Lamp of the night, depended from a little drift 
 of fleecy-white and amber-coloured clouds, swung 
 over Paris. 
 
 "O moon," she said, "dear, round, red moon, I 
 am going to be good! I really, really am. I am 
 going to turn over a new leaf; I am going . . ." 
 
 There was a sharp whirr, hard, metallic, and in- 
 sistent, from the room behind. 
 
 The telephone bell was ringing. 
 
 Peggy started the world called her back. In 
 her mind, as it were, she put down her good resolu- 
 tions on the balcony and hurried in to see who had 
 rung her up. 
 
 She fluttered up to the telephone, caught the re- 
 ceiver to her ear, and spoke breathlessly: 
 
 "Well, who is it? What? Yes. Who is it? 
 Oh ! Where are you ? Chalons ! You have arrived, 
 then? What?" 
 
 A voice, not over the telephone wire, but behind 
 her and in the room, came to Peggy's disengaged 
 ear. 
 
 She started violently and turned round as if upon 
 a pivot. 
 
 She saw standing before her a slim, tall, clean- 
 shaved man, anywhere between thirty and forty. 
 lie was in evening clothes that is to say, he wore 
 a dinner jacket and black tie. His hair was dark 
 
 40
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and curly and grew low upon his forehead ; his eye- 
 brows were beautifully pencilled; and below them 
 two shrewd, mocking, and yet somehow simple and 
 merry eyes of a brilliant grey looked out upon Mrs. 
 Admaston. The nose was aquiline ; the lips, a trifle 
 full, were nevertheless beautifully shaped. They 
 were parted now in a smile. 
 
 "Who is it ?* Let me speak, Peggy ?" Collingwood 
 said. 
 
 Peggy looked at him. "Oh, how you startled 
 me!" she cried, with a little shriek of alarm and 
 embarrassment. Then without a further word she 
 fluttered towards the door of her bedroom, dropping 
 the receiver of the telephone, which hung by its 
 twisted cord and swung this way and that. 
 
 Roderick Collingwood took a couple of quick, 
 decisive steps to the wall. He caught up the re- 
 ceiver. 
 
 "Hello! That you, Ellerdine? Yes, just finished 
 supper. What? What? 2.34 to-night I mean 
 this morning? What time do you reach Paris? 
 What? five o'clock?" 
 
 He turned round to Peggy, who was standing 
 by her bedroom door. "They are coming on here," 
 he said. 
 
 "Now?" the girl asked. 
 
 "Yes! they get here at five." He caught up the
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 receiver again and pressed it to his ear, leaning 
 forward to the mouthpiece. 
 
 "I say, Ellerdine I say, why not wait for us 
 at Chalons? What? You have decided not to go 
 on ? Very well. We will wait for you." 
 
 He placed the receiver of the telephone back upon 
 its rest, and turned the handle to ring off. Then 
 he looked at Peggy, walking slowly towards her as 
 he spoke. 
 
 "Ellerdine is vexed," he said. 
 
 Peggy's face was the most alluring pink, her eyes 
 looked angry. 
 
 "Please leave the room," she said. 
 
 Collingwood stopped. "I am sorry," he said. "I 
 heard the telephone ring, and before I knew where 
 I was . . ." 
 
 Peggy cut him short, pointing to the door on the 
 left-hand side of the room, the door not far from 
 that which led into the corridor. "Is that your 
 room?" taking a couple of steps towards him. 
 
 "Yes," the dark man answered; "the hotel was 
 full it was the only room left. Don't be vexed, 
 Peggy." 
 
 The girl's face had a sort of hard impatience in 
 it, though mingled with something else also some- 
 thing very difficult to define. "Wait," she said. 
 "That door was locked when I tried it before you 
 came in to supper. Did you unlock it?" 
 
 42
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Mr. Collingwood laughed a pleasant, musical 
 laugh, which seemed to resolve the somewhat tragic 
 note of Mrs. Admaston's voice into nothing to 
 make it seem rather unnecessary and absurd. It was 
 a thoroughly boyish laugh. 
 
 "Why, Peggy," he said, "what a very serious 
 mood you are in ! Unlock it ? Of course I unlocked 
 it, when I heard you at the telephone. I thought 
 you would not mind. Besides, I wanted to know 
 what Ellerdine was up to. Come, come, Peggy ; this 
 is not the first time we have been together so late." 
 
 Peggy looked at him with wide eyes. "Oh, but it 
 is different," she said; "we are in a strange hotel 
 by accident. Colling, it was by accident, wasn't it ?" 
 
 He started, bent forward a little, and answered 
 her with great eagerness. 
 
 "Of course, of course; surely you did not 
 think " 
 
 "Oh, I don't know what I thought; but I feel so 
 funny, so nervous." 
 
 Collingwood laughed again really, it was the 
 most reassuring and musical laugh. "Peggy ner- 
 vous ?" 
 
 "Well, it is rather alarming," Peggy replied. 
 
 Collingwood laughed once more, and stepped up 
 towards her. "But rather nice isn't it rather nice? 
 what, Peggy?" 
 
 There was something so irresistibly amusing in 
 
 43
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 his voice and smile that Mrs. Admaston began to 
 bubble over with laughter. 
 
 "Isn't it rather nice?" he went on, crossing over 
 to the little switch-board and putting out the big 
 central light which depended from the roof. "Isn't 
 it rather nice ?" 
 
 Peggy had entrenched herself behind the little 
 table on which supper had been laid. She was ob- 
 viously tremendously amused, but she made a great 
 effort to be serious. "Colling!" she said, "it is mad. 
 Supposing anybody knew!" 
 
 Collingwood was quite calm. He treated the 
 whole thing as if it were the most ordinary occasion. 
 He strolled lazily over to the fireplace, took a cig- 
 arette-case from his pocket, a cigarette from it, and 
 struck a light. 
 
 "How can anyone know ?" he asked. 
 
 Peggy seemed alarmed once more. 
 
 "No! Colling, please don't light a cigarette. It 
 is too late. I must go to bed." 
 
 Collingwood's only answer was to blow out a 
 cloud of smoke, to cross over to the sofa and throw 
 himself upon it. 
 
 "Not yet," he said. "Don't be unkind, Peggy. 
 Just one cigarette. Just one, in fiont of the fire 
 which, by the way, is out, and then bye-byes." 
 
 "Well, one cigarette, but only one," Peggy said. 
 
 Collingwood sat up. "Good little Peggy," he 
 44
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 said in a low, quiet voice ; and then, raising his head, 
 he looked at her intently with his brilliant grey 
 eyes. 
 
 Peggy looked him straight in the face also, and 
 then the spirit of mischief, the excitement of this 
 odd meeting, got the better of her prudence. She 
 came to the back of the sofa and leant over it. 
 "Isn't Peggy going to have one?" she said. 
 
 The man took his cigarette-case from his waist- 
 coat pocket, opened it, and gave her a cigarette. 
 Her face was tantalisingly close to his, and she 
 noticed, well enough, that his hand was trembling 
 as he did so. She kept her face close to his just 
 half a moment longer than the situation required. 
 
 Collingwood's voice began to shake also. "Now, 
 Peggy, you little devil," he said. 
 
 "Why is Peggy a little. devil?" 
 
 With a slim brown hand, which, despite all the 
 man's sang-froid, still shook like a leaf in the wind, 
 he lit the cigarette for the girl, looking up into her 
 face as he did so. 
 
 "Either I mistake your shape and making quite, 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 
 Called Robin Goodfellow." 
 
 There came a little bubble of laughter from 
 Peggy, which seemed to remove all diffidence from 
 Collingwood. "How are you, my friend Puck?" 
 he said. 
 
 45
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Peggy perched herself upon the head of the sofa. 
 "Oh, Puck was an imp of mischief," she said. 
 
 "Well?" he asked. 
 
 The girl puffed her cigarette contentedly for a 
 few seconds; then she bent towards him, swinging 
 her little brown-shoed foot. "Tell me, Colling," 
 she asked : "why weren't my boxes registered ?" 
 
 "Well of all the suspicious little demons I ever 
 came across ! Registered ?" 
 
 "Yes, registered." 
 
 "Well, I suppose that fool of a porter at Charing 
 Cross forgot to do it," Collingwood replied. 
 
 "It was a bit of luck, wasn't it?" Peggy said. 
 
 Collingwood seemed to be thinking of something 
 else. He was gazing at the end of his cigarette and 
 not looking at her at all. "Yes," he said in an 
 absent-minded voice. 
 
 "I wonder " Peggy went on; and then sud- 
 denly she stopped, and Collingwood looked up with 
 a start. 
 
 "I wonder," Peggy continued, "what the Attwill 
 will think?" 
 
 "Think ?" he answered. "She can jolly well think 
 what she likes." 
 
 "I don't much mind what she thinks," Peggy 
 said; "but I'll bet she's put some rotten idea into 
 Ellerdine's head. Colling, I don't like her really 
 I don't." 
 
 46
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Although Peggy did not notice it, the man's voice 
 became slightly strained. The lips assumed an ap- 
 pearance of somewhat exaggerated indifference, but 
 there was a glint of watchfulness in the eyes. 
 
 "You don't like Lady Attwill ?" he said. 
 
 "That's it," Peggy replied. "Where does she get 
 her money from?" 
 
 Collingwood started slightly. The girl did not 
 notice it. "I don't know," he said a little uneasily. 
 
 "Is that true, Colling?" Peggy asked, with mis- 
 chief in her eyes. 
 
 "By the way, has she any?" Collingwood asked. 
 
 "Well, if she hasn't, how does she do it?" 
 
 "By her wits, my dear." 
 
 "Ellerdine doesn't go in for wits," Peggy re- 
 marked. 
 
 "Poor, dear Dicky! he is the diplomatic failure of 
 the century." 
 
 "I suppose he is, but it is an ill wind that blows 
 nobody good. The Empire's loss is Attwill's gain." 
 
 Collingwood laughed. "Well," he said, "she's the 
 only post he has been able to keep." 
 
 "I don't know that he can afford to keep any- 
 thing. Can he be in love with her, do you think?" 
 
 Collingwood puffed slowly at his cigarette. 
 
 "My dear Peggy," he said, looking her up and 
 down with a curious meditative gaze "my dear 
 Peggy, if a man loves a woman he doesn't leave 
 
 47
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 a comfortable hotel to travel all night in a slow 
 train with her. Ellerdine is as likely to spend his 
 money on a home for lost cats as on the Attwill." 
 
 "She's a very attractive cat," Peggy said. 
 
 "He doesn't care two straws about her," Colling- 
 wood replied quite definitely. 
 
 "Then why did he come?" 
 
 "To please you for no other reason." 
 
 "Anyway, I don't like her," Peggy said. "Do 
 you ? I believe you do, Colling." 
 
 Collingwood jumped up from the sofa. "Now, 
 stop that, Peggy," he said. 
 
 The glint of mischief in Peggy's eyes glowed 
 more strongly. "She's a very attractive woman," 
 she said. 
 
 "Well, she's not the sort of woman who attracts 
 me," Collingwood replied, sitting down again upon 
 the couch and tapping impatiently with his foot 
 upon the carpet. He seemed disturbed, uneasy, 
 under the influence of some suppressed emotion. 
 
 Peggy stroked her nose with one little finger, and 
 then she leant down towards Collingwood. "What 
 sort of woman attracts you?" she said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Again the man jumped up, and a keen observer 
 would have noticed that tiny beads of perspiration 
 had come out upon his forehead like seed pearls. 
 
 48
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Peggy," he cried, "you are a tantalising little 
 fiend !" 
 
 Peggy shook with laughter. She was absolutely 
 happy. "I suppose I ought not to have said that," 
 she bubbled. 
 
 "Why not?" he asked, and into his voice came 
 something of deep yearning, and the note of passion 
 restrained till now, broke through all reserves and 
 all defences at last. 
 
 "Why not?" he said. Again his voice grew in 
 emotional force and power. "Why not, Peggy? 
 I love you when you are in this mood. I love you 
 in all your moods, dear." 
 
 Peggy slid down from the end of the sofa and 
 moved a little way towards the door of her bed- 
 room. "What about that cigarette?" she asked, 
 and there was a distinct note of nervousness in her 
 voice. 
 
 She had provoked the beginnings of passion, and, 
 having done so, womanlike, she was startled and 
 afraid. 
 
 "Cigarette," he said. "Oh, I haven't finished it 
 yet. But listen! Peggy darling, you must listen!" 
 
 She was really startled now. "Not to-night, 
 Colling; you promised," she said. "Now, Colling, 
 go please go!" 
 
 "I can't go, Peggy ; I love you so !" he answered. 
 
 "Please, Colling, don't talk like that!" 
 49
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Now his voice became almost dogged, though it 
 lost nothing of its power. "I can't help it," he said ; 
 "I love you!" 
 
 The girl clutched nervously at her tea-gown and 
 shrank back nearer yet to the door. 
 
 "Don't talk of love," she said in a low voice. 
 
 He took three quick steps up to her, and again 
 she shrank away, not this time into the sure defence 
 of her bedroom, but towards the window. 
 
 "Don't talk of love ?" he said, and his voice rever- 
 berated and rang with feeling. "Why not? It is 
 in the air the very night is charged with love. You 
 cannot look out on a night like this and not think of 
 love." 
 
 "Don't, Colling; you frighten me," she said. 
 
 "Oh, but why should my love frighten you, my 
 Peggy? My darling, it is brightness, tenderness, 
 and love that you want. I know how monotonous 
 and dull your life must be. Good God! don't I 
 know it? Am I not always thinking of it? Poor 
 little Butterfly ! What a flutter you make to be free, 
 to warm your dainty wings in sunny places ! Peggy, 
 sweetheart, I want to show you the sunny places." 
 
 "Please go, Colling!" she said, and her flute-like 
 voice was tremulous with fear. "Please go, Colling ! 
 It isn't fair. I am afraid. You see, I am so fond of 
 you, and I am such a little Butterfly 1" 
 
 He held out his hands towards her, palms up- 
 50
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 wards, with a curious foreign gesture which showed 
 how greatly he was moved. "I can't go, Peggy," he 
 said. "I want you so badly want you for my own 
 to-night to-morrow, all the nights and all the 
 days. I have been very good. I have always done 
 what you have told me. I have come and gone 
 just exactly as the whim has struck you. Ah! you 
 know how deeply, how dearly I love you !" 
 
 She moved past him with a sudden, gliding step, 
 and placed the settee between them. 
 
 "I only know you are my friend, my very dear 
 friend," she said. 
 
 "No ! no ! no !" he cried, coming after her. 
 
 "Yes only that friend !" 
 
 "Lover! Peggy," he said passionately. "I am a 
 man devoured by love of you. I have waited for 
 
 you longed for you and now " With a 
 
 sudden movement he caught her in his arms, strain- 
 ing her to him wildly, showering kisses upon the 
 shining coronet of her hair. "We're alone, Peggy," 
 he cried, "just you and I !" and his voice rang with 
 triumph. "We're alone! There are no others in 
 the world no others ! You are mine, Peggy, mine 
 at last!" 
 
 She struggled in his arms, her face pale as linen, 
 her voice with a note of almost shrill alarm. 
 
 "Colling, I can't bear it you will spoil every- 
 51
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 thing. Do help me, Colling! I don't love you like 
 that. I'm sorry if it hurts you. I'd rather die." 
 
 There was a note in her voice of such absolute 
 sincerity, mingled with fear, that he opened his arms 
 and let her flutter away. 
 
 The passion upon his face changed and melted 
 into something else. 
 
 "My God!" he cried. "You would rather 
 j' 
 
 He stumbled rather than walked towards the sofa 
 and sat down upon it, burying his face in his long 
 lean hands, that trembled exceedingly. 
 
 "My God!" she heard him whisper to himself; 
 "she would rather die ! . . ." 
 
 Peggy had followed him, and she stood at the 
 end of the sofa, aghast at what she had done. She 
 began to speak slowly and nervously. 
 
 "Colling, don't do that. I really can't bear that 
 you should think me unkind. I like you too well 
 .to let you do anything that would spoil our hap- 
 piness. I am not unkind really I am not. Have 
 not I shown how fond of you I am ? We have been 
 such good friends !" 
 
 "Friends!" he said bitterly, without looking up 
 from his hands. 
 
 His voice was so cold, so charged with misery 
 and sudden realisation, that it cut the girl to the 
 heart. She went round from the, back of the sofa 
 
 52
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and knelt at his feet, stretching out her hand timidly, 
 and touching the sleeve of his coat 
 
 "Colling, dear, what else can we be?" she said. 
 
 He looked down at her, and for a moment his 
 voice did not soften. There was a quiet, dogged 
 misery in it. 
 
 "We have passed the merely friendship line," he 
 said; "and you know that well enough, Peggy. 
 That has been passed a long time. You would not 
 have left London with me if we had only been 
 friends and nothing more. Were we only friends 
 when w used to sit up together night after night 
 at Ellerdine's house? Do 'friends' speak to each 
 other as we have spoken? Why, you have only to 
 touch my hand to know that I burn with longing." 
 
 "Colling, you mustn't say such things!" 
 
 He jumped up roughly, leaving her kneeling 
 upon the floor, and passed with rapid steps to the 
 window. 
 
 "Friends!" he cried, and his voice had a razor 
 edge to it "Friends! It's not true! Do friends 
 run the risks that we have run? For God's sake, 
 here and now let us be honest with each other. 
 Why, we haven't even tried to fool society! For 
 Heaven's sake, Peggy, don't let's try to fool our- 
 selves !" 
 
 Peggy rose slowly to her feet, trembling all over. 
 53
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Colling-! oh, Colling!" she said in a piteous voice, 
 "surely people don't think we are 
 
 "People don't think! People are only too glad 
 to think. You know well enough what is said about 
 others " 
 
 Her face grew paler still, her eyes were wide 
 with fear and slowly dawning realisation. She 
 clasped both hands to her breast, and the light shone 
 upon the rubies set in the old Moorish bracelets that 
 she was wearing. 
 
 "Oh!" she said. 
 
 He came up to her again. 
 
 "Peggy, you don't care, do you?" 
 
 "Don't care, Colling!" she gasped. "Tell me, 
 do people think we are " 
 
 "Think! how can they help thinking it? 
 Haven't we given them every reason?" 
 
 "No, no, no ! Oh ! I hate to think of that ! We 
 have only been very fond friends. Why should 
 they think otherwise?" 
 
 There were tears of agony in her voice. She kept 
 clasping and unclasping her hands. 
 
 "Oh! I suppose it is all my fault," she said 
 brokenly "all my fault. I don't think ungenerous 
 things of others. I have been too trusting too 
 confiding. Why should people thing such things? 
 I only wanted a good friend, a companion." 
 
 He still stood by her, looking at her keenly, and 
 54
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the bitterness in his voice did not die away. 
 "Friends ! Oh yes, I know ! You wanted some- 
 one to pet you, to pamper you. What you wanted 
 was someone to satisfy all your vanities your 
 yearning for devotion, for adulation, for sense of 
 power. I know ! You wanted all the joys and none 
 of the risks. That sums up the whole thing in a 
 nutshell. There are lots of women like you. They 
 drive men mad make drunkards, gamblers, swin- 
 dlers of them. I have seen it often enough. I have 
 seen men fall out and lose themselves among the 
 army of crooks that throng the second-rate shows. 
 But I won't let you drive me mad." 
 
 The bitterness in his voice was terrible. His 
 words seemed to scourge her, to lash her like a 
 whip. She stared at him in helpless amazement and 
 misery. He had paused in his rapid torrent of 
 speech, and as he saw her distress he seemed to 
 be a little touched. 
 
 "Peggy!" he said, and once more the note of 
 passion came into his voice, while the anger died 
 out of it "Peggy! I mean you to be mine. There 
 will be a crash soon that is certain. Admaston 
 will take notice of what everybody is saying about 
 us. He will come out of his political shell, wake 
 up, do things, put an end to it at once and for 
 ever!" 
 
 55
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Oh, my God! What have I done!" the girl 
 cried. 
 
 "Done! What have you done to deserve your 
 husband's neglect? Why, he doesn't even know 
 that you exist His heart beats by Act of Parlia- 
 ment. He'd a thousand times rather address a 
 village meeting than spend an hour in your com- 
 pany. Are you to pass your youth in the company 
 of " 
 
 "Stop! stop!" she cried. "Say what you like 
 about me scold me if you like, but say nothing 
 against him. You do not know my husband. We 
 are neither of us fit to mention his name. He is 
 a big man, and he loves me." 
 
 "But, Peggy, you won't say that you love him?" 
 Collingwood said, with a curious note of perplexity 
 in his voice. The situation, tragic as it was, got 
 a little bit beyond him. 
 
 "Love him?" she answered. "I don't know. I 
 have had no chance to love anyone the way you 
 regard love." 
 
 Collingwood put his hands into his pockets, 
 swung round upon his heels and swung back 
 again. "I see," he said ; "you mean you don't love 
 Admaston, and won't love anybody else?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," Peggy replied; "but I cer- 
 tainly don't love anybody else. You think I am 
 neglected. That is absurd. It was my father's wish 
 
 56
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 that we should marry. George knew that I did not 
 love him. He trusts me fully. There will be no 
 crash." 
 
 He heard the note in her voice which told him 
 that she was trying to persuade herself that her fears 
 were groundless, and smiled rather grimly. 
 
 "There will be," he said. "You take my word 
 for it. No man not even Admaston can stand 
 ridicule for long. Remember, I mean to win you. 
 I shall marry no one if I don't marry you." 
 
 She tried to speak lightly. 
 
 "Colling, don't be so silly! You are one of the 
 best matches in England. You will marry a beau- 
 tiful girl who will lead society and make you a very 
 proud and ambitious man. Don't shake your head 
 that's only because you want to be gallant. 
 Heavens! how I would do things if I were a man! 
 You, with all your talents and your money, ought 
 to rise to any position." 
 
 "You are mad about position," he said impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "Yes," Peggy answered. "I like men who have 
 some big purpose in life and who fight the world 
 and win." 
 
 "Like George Admaston!" Collingwood an- 
 swered, and now for the first time there came a glint 
 of malicious and real ill-humour over his face. It 
 came and passed in a second, but it had been there. 
 
 57
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Yes," Peggy replied; "like George Admaston! 
 He is a fighter, Colling. I think many women 
 would love George. He is not the butterfly type- 
 but " 
 
 "But he has all the luck," Collingwood broke in 
 fiercely. . "I could do anything if you were with 
 me. I must have something or someone to fight 
 for. My nature must be baffled. There must be 
 obstacles in the way for me. I have a wicked streak 
 in me somewhere that turns red when I can't get 
 what I want. Peggy, you must let Admaston get 
 a divorce." 
 
 The words seemed to strike her dumb. All colour 
 had left her face long since, but now almost all ex- 
 pression went from it also for a moment. It was 
 as if she had been struck some paralysing blow. 
 
 He was watching her keenly, and as he noted the 
 effect of his words a spasm of pain went through 
 him, though he showed nothing of it in his face 
 or manner. He loved her, he loved her dearly; 
 there was no doubt about that. He hated to give 
 her pain, yet he felt he was being cruel only to be 
 kind. She must face the situation once and for 
 all, and then perhaps everything might be right. 
 The situation, serious as it was, was very largely 
 of his own creation. Seeing no other way, he had 
 deliberately endeavoured to compromise Mrs. Ad- 
 maston. All his plans, all his ideas, had been di- 
 
 58
 
 rected to this end. He wanted to force her hus- 
 band's hand and to marry Peggy after the divorce. 
 He loved her wildly, madly, passionately. He 
 would have been a perfect husband to her there 
 can be no doubt of that. 
 
 But his love was selfish. In order to win this 
 woman for his own he was ready to subject her 
 to all the indignities and all the shame of a process 
 in the courts. In his overmastering desire, her 
 reputation, her honour, mattered nothing to him. 
 It was she that he wanted, and any means should 
 be taken to achieve that end. 
 
 Men like Roderick Collingwood have few guiding 
 principles in life, save only those of their own 
 appetites. Of course, the public school and the 
 university have given them a certain code. They 
 must pay their gambling debts, they must do various 
 other things of that sort; but as far as any con- 
 ception of the morality and decency, which have 
 made England what it is, is concerned, they are 
 absolutely without it 
 
 He nodded at Peggy, driving home the words. 
 
 "Divorce! Oh, you mustn't talk like that. You 
 know how it hurts me/' she said at last, when she 
 had recovered a little. Really, really, you are mis- 
 taken. I am quite satisfied with my life only, 
 sometimes when I am foolish I feel just a bit lonely 
 and neglected." 
 
 59
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 He turned on her almost with a sneer. He 
 was bitterly hurt and angry, and there is no doubt 
 that, from his point of view, he had reason for 
 complaint. She had led him on. She had flirted 
 outrageously with him. She had deliberately done 
 her best to be provocative. Her intentions, doubt- 
 less, were innocent enough as far as any dishonour 
 to her husband entered into the question. But her 
 love of adulation, her vanity, her desire of power, 
 were all gratified by her conquest of him; while at 
 the same time she still had a real and genuine friend- 
 ship for a man who, with all his faults, was essen- 
 tially charming, good-natured, and kind. 
 
 "Then you have deceived me!" he cried. 
 
 "Colling, don't say that. I never meant ' 
 
 "Never meant? Good heavens! I told you six 
 months ago that I loved you, and ever since then 
 you have let me go here and there with you, and I 
 have told you of my love again and again." 
 
 "But you have always been so good. You have 
 never been unkind to me before to-night." 
 
 "Good God! Unkind! Why, most men would 
 have divorced their wives on far less evidence than 
 we have furnished. And all the while you have 
 accepted the position without a murmur. You don't 
 know what you have done." 
 
 "Colling, what do you mean?" 
 
 **Mean?" he answered. "I mean that you have 
 60
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 led me to believe that you didn't care what we 
 did what people said about us. Mean? I mean 
 that the call of love is in the spring, Peggy, whis- 
 pering to you and me. Mean? I mean that I am 
 a man and you are a woman our souls stand bare 
 to one another that I love you and that you love 
 me," 
 
 He sprang at her and caught her up in his arms 
 once more. 
 
 "I don't love you, Colling! Let me go!" she 
 cried. 
 
 "I can't let you go! It is my hour! It is your 
 fault as well as mine ! Kiss me, Peggy ! You have 
 tortured me long enough ! Kiss me !" 
 
 He held her tight, tight ! His face blazed. There 
 was a fury in his voice. 
 
 At that very moment when he stopped speaking 
 and was gazing down at her, while she lay for a 
 moment almost passive in his arms after her first 
 fight and struggle, a loud, sharp, clear sound rang 
 out in the room. It was the bell of the telephone 
 upon the wall. 
 
 "Ellerdine!" Peggy said. 
 
 "Let him ring," Collingwood answered. 
 
 They stood there for another moment clasped to- 
 gether, and once more the insistent summons of the 
 bell came. 
 
 "No, no," Peggy cried; "answer him, please!" 
 61
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 With an odd, instinctive gesture Collingwood put 
 his arm right round her. Before he had been strain- 
 ing her to him passionately. Now there was some- 
 thing protective in his attitude. 
 
 And again the bell whirred. 
 
 At last with great reluctance Collingwood stepped 
 up to the wall and caught up the receiver. 
 
 "Well, well!" he said "Who is it? What! 
 Ad Admaston!" 
 
 A voice which was robbed of all ordinary qual- 
 ities shivered out into the room. 
 
 "My husband!" said Peggy. 
 
 Collingwood made a warning gesture with his left 
 hand, telling her to keep quiet. 
 
 "Yes," he said; "we took the wrong train. Yes, 
 Ccllingwood. Yes, it is he speaking." 
 
 "Where is he?" came hissing to the ears of the 
 man at the telephone. Again he motioned her to 
 silence, giving a slight impatient tap with his foot 
 upon the carpet. 
 
 "Oh yes. We have just finished supper. What? 
 I can't hear you distinctly. You want to speak to 
 Ellerdine? Hold the line a moment; I'll call him." 
 
 He put down the receiver upon the table and 
 ran up to Peggy, who was shaking like a leaf in 
 the wind. 
 
 "He wants to speak to you, too, I think," Colling- 
 62
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 wood said in a low, fierce whisper; "but perhaps 
 you had better not." 
 
 "I can't," Peggy answered, swaying this way and 
 that as if about to fall. He put out his arm and 
 Readied her. 
 
 "All right, darling," he said; "it is all right P 
 
 "Where is he? London?" she said. 
 
 "I didn't ask," he replied. "Wait a minuter' 
 
 He hurried to the telephone again. "Hello ! El- 
 lerdine has just gone out. Hello! Where are you 
 speaking from? Damn! We're cut off. Hdlo! 
 Hello!" 
 
 He listened for nearly half a minute, taut and 
 strained as a greyhound on the leash ; then he flung 
 the receiver angrily upon the bracket 
 
 "We're cut off," he repeated, looking at her al- 
 most stupidly, as if the situation was beyond him. 
 
 Collingwood said nothing for a little time. At 
 last he spoke. "I didn't think of that," he said. 
 "Can he have had us " 
 
 "What? What?" she almost shrieked. 
 
 "Followed?" 
 
 He plunged his hands into the pockets of his 
 dinner-jacket and bent his head, thinking deeply. 
 Then he looked up at Peggy. "Peggy," he said at 
 length, "rumour he has been ridiculed into action 
 the crash has come." 
 
 The girl held out both hands towards him as if 
 63
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 warding off a blow. "Go, go!" she cried; "please 
 go! I sha'n't speak another word to you to-night. 
 Go at once!" 
 
 "I can't leave you now, Peggy. I just worship 
 you." 
 
 "I shall ring for my maid," she said, and moved 
 towards the bell-push. 
 
 "No, don't do that. Don't be cruel, Peggy !" he 
 said, in a voice instinct with agonised pleading. 
 "Don't be cruel, Peggy! No, no! Don't ring!" 
 
 "I shall," she said firmly, and stretched out her 
 hand. 
 
 "Peggy, trust me. I love you better than any- 
 thing in the world better than myself. For you I 
 will sacrifice wealth, honour." 
 
 "Honour !" she cried. 
 
 "I'll do anything to win you. Everything I have 
 done has been to win you to have you for my 
 own. You know it is true. Peggy, before God, I 
 believed that you loved me too. Don't judge me 
 harshly oh, don't do that!" 
 
 Peggy put out her hand and pressed the bell- 
 push. 
 
 "I must be alone," she said in a dull, muffled 
 voice. 
 
 He saw that it was useless, that he had failed, 
 that the plans of months had all miscarried, that 
 everything was over for him as far as she was con- 
 
 64
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 cerned. Undisciplined as his nature was, baffled and 
 disowned as he felt, he nevertheless showed himself 
 rather fine in that moment. He made an almost 
 superhuman effort at self-control and succeeded. 
 
 "All right, Peggy dear/' he said. ''Don't be 
 afraid. Everything will come right. Good night." 
 With one last lingering look at her he left the 
 room, closing the door which led into his own. 
 
 Peggy sank down upon the sofa almost over- 
 mastered by her rising hysteria, limp and half un- 
 conscious. 
 
 She lay there breathing hurriedly, and with her 
 eyes closed, when the corridor door opened and 
 Pauline came rapidly into the room. 
 
 "Madame!" she cried. 
 
 Peggy gave one great sob of relief. 
 
 "Pauline! you have not gone to bed?" 
 
 "No, madame! I was so anxious about you I 
 could not sleep." 
 
 "Oh, my head is bursting f" the girl cried; "there 
 is a pain like the thrust of a sword in my head." 
 
 "Poor darling!" Pauline said, her voice guttural 
 with excitement, her trembling hands passing over 
 the young girl's form with loving, frightened ca- 
 resses. "Poor darling! There is something alto- 
 gether wrong. Just now, when I came down, I 
 saw a man standing at your door listening." 
 
 "At that door?" 
 
 65
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Yes. Twice I have seen him to-day. He was 
 at Boulogne; I saw him looking at your boxes. 
 Then just after supper he came in when I was 
 speaking to the waiter." 
 
 "Then we have been followed," Peggy answered, 
 breaking down utterly. "Pauline, I feel that some- 
 thing dreadful is going to happen. Stay with me 
 don't go back to your room. Soothe me, Pauline, 
 as you used to when I was little and afraid of the 
 dark."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IT was about nine o'clock the next morning. The 
 heat of the night before had given place to that 
 incomparable freshness which spring mornings have 
 in Paris. 
 
 The windows of Mrs. Admaston's sitting-room 
 were open, and a delightfully scented air, from the 
 lilac blossoms and all the flowers of the gardens in 
 the Tuileries, flooded and floated into the room. 
 
 Rooms have an aspect of this or that emotion 
 according to the hour in which the events of the 
 soul have taken place within them. 
 
 There are some rooms which always have the 
 same mood. When one goes into them one doesn't 
 impose one's mood, one's fancy, or one's ideas upon 
 the place, but is dominated by one lasting person- 
 ality of furniture, of aspect, of general mise en 
 scene. 
 
 It would be impossible, for example, to have a 
 merry breakfast-party in the hangman's ante-room 
 to the gallows; and one has known rooms in hotels 
 which one enters gladly, unconscious of the per- 
 vading gloom which seems to ding to floor and 
 
 67
 
 ceiling and rises up like a spectre into the heart 
 and brain after a few minutes' sojourn there. 
 
 The sitting-room in the Hotel des Tuileries, 
 which had been the theatre of such tragic emotions 
 on the last spring midnight, was now ordinary and 
 comfortable enough. 
 
 The chairs and settees were all in their proper 
 places. The carpet had been brushed, and its dull 
 blues, greys, and brick-dust reds were all essentially 
 artistic. 
 
 And they had brought new flowers there also. 
 The bowls and vases were rilled with fresh purple 
 and white lilac. The silver candlesticks had been 
 polished there were no drippings of wax upon 
 them any more. Tall white candles, fresh, virginal, 
 and unfired, filled all the candlesticks. 
 
 In the middle of all this freshness two people 
 were a man and a woman. 
 
 One, Lord Ellerdine, was very tall and lean. He 
 was dressed in a suit of very immaculate grey flan- 
 nel not the greyish-green which the ordinary per- 
 son who wears flannels imagines to be the right 
 thing, but the real grey-grey which costs a good 
 deal of money; if the tailors in Sackville Street 
 and Waterloo Place, from whom we suffer, are to 
 be believed. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine's hair and he hadn't much of it 
 was what he himself would have described as 
 
 68
 
 "the same old dust-colour." He wore a stiff double 
 collar with blue lines upon it, a tie of China silk, 
 and a big black pearl, stuck right down at the bot- 
 tom, so that it only peeped out from the opening 
 of his waistcoat now and again. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine had red eyes that is to say, that 
 there was a sort of red glint in them. The brows 
 which overhung them were straight and dark, and 
 contradicted with an odd grotesquerie the flickering 
 attempt to really be at home and happy with the 
 world. The face itself was rather tanned and 
 brown, lean in contour and suggesting the explorer 
 and the travelled man; and all this was oddly con- 
 tradicted by an engaging little button of a mouth, 
 which twitched and lisped and was always rather 
 more jolly than the occasion warranted. 
 
 By the side of Lord Ellerdine or rather standing 
 in the middle of the room and looking down upon 
 him, for he had thrown himself upon the sofa was 
 a tall, slim, and gracious woman, perfectly dressed 
 in a travelling coat and skirt of tweed. She looked 
 round her rather fretfully. 
 
 Her face was radiant there is no other word for 
 it. Although she had been travelling all night, she 
 appeared to be as fresh as paint and that exactly 
 describes her. 
 
 The complexion was perfect. It had that creamy 
 morbidezza one sees in a furled magnolia bud. Two 
 
 69
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 straight, decisive lips seemed like a "band of scarlet 
 upon a tower of ivory." Lady Attwill's eyes were 
 sapphire-blue and suspicious, but entirely charming. 
 She was, in short, a thoroughly handsome woman, 
 and the sunlight struck curious radiances from the 
 little pearls she wore in the shell-like lobes of her 
 ears. 
 
 "Tell niadame, will you, Pauline?" she said. 
 
 "I'll tell madame that you have arrived," the maid 
 said with a little bow. She crossed the room, 
 knocked, opened the door leading into Mrs. Ad- 
 maston's bedroom, and disappeared. 
 
 Almost immediately Lady Attwill's face changed 
 from its quiet calm and became vivid. 
 
 "Cheer up, Dicky!" she said to Lord Ellerdine; 
 "you've been in many a worse fix than this." 
 
 The diplomatist looked at her for a moment, his 
 whole silly but somehow distinguished face cov- 
 ered with a sort of desperate cheerfulness. 
 
 "Worse!" he said. "I should say so. I don't 
 mind gettin' into a 'fix,' as you call it." 
 
 "Then what in the world are you grumbling 
 about?" Lady Attwill asked. 
 
 "Why, how am I going to get out of it? Any 
 fool can get into a fix any time. It's gettin' out 
 what? That's the bally riddle, Alice gettin' out 
 of it. What?" 
 
 Lady Attwill went up to him and dug him con- 
 70
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 fidentially in the shoulder with one pretty gloved 
 thumb. 
 
 "Look here, Dicky," she said; "now, did I ever 
 fail you?" 
 
 "Oh no, no. You've always been pretty good." 
 
 "Now, haven't I got you out of many a scrape?" 
 
 Lord Ellerdine seemed to think that is to say, 
 call upon the resources of a somewhat attenuated 
 memory. "Yes," he replied; "not so confounded 
 many only two; and yes well, of course, that 
 other one was rather awkward." 
 
 He chuckled to himself. "But, after all, this is 
 different," he continued. "I am not in this one, 
 exactly. No more are you. It's Peggy's fix. And 
 we don't quite know how she's got into it. I don't 
 like the look of it." 
 
 Lady Attwill listened to him with an aspect of 
 particular attention. But if the man had been able 
 to realise it he would have seen the flash of con- 
 tempt which came and went over her face. He did 
 not, however, and she replied in her ordinary tones : 
 
 "Look of it! It's merely a frolic nothing seri- 
 ous. Collingwood is not the man to run risks. He 
 believes in the simple life." 
 
 "Does he, by Jove!" Lord Ellerdine said. "He's 
 not so simple as that, Alice." 
 
 "He is not so simple as to get into a complication 
 71
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 with Admaston," she answered. "He's no fool 
 you take my word for it." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine grinned his fatuous little grin. 
 
 "Seems I have to take your word for everything," 
 he said. 
 
 "All right, Dicky," she answered ; "just you leave 
 all the thinking to me." 
 
 "You don't give me time to think," he answered. 
 "I know I am deuced slow at it. But tell me this. 
 How did Peggy and Collingwood get to my place 
 last autumn before ten o'clock in the morning? Tell 
 me that what?" 
 
 "They motored through the night, of course." 
 
 "They jolly well didn't," replied his lordship. 
 
 "But Colling told us he did," said Lady Attwill. 
 
 "I knew he did. But they didn't." 
 
 Lady Attwill had been glancing over the Matin 
 of that day, which had been laid upon the breakfast 
 table. At these words of her companion's she put 
 down the paper rather hurriedly and looked up. 
 
 "Dicky," she said, "I believe you know some- 
 thing." 
 
 "I know I do." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "Bad breakdown at Selby overnight. They came 
 on to my place in a hired motor next morning. I 
 heard all about it from the man who drove them 
 down from Selby." 
 
 72
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Lady Attwill was very genuinely interested, or 
 achieved a fair assumption of interest "Dicky!" 
 she cried. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine nodded his thin head vigorously. 
 "It's a fact," he replied triumphantly. "The fellow 
 is now my second chauffeur. So you see I can find 
 out things if I have time enough. Alice, I don't 
 like this fix Peggy's in. Staying at Selby with Col- 
 lingwood all night was bad enough, but " 
 
 "Good gracious!" Lady Attwill answered, "can't 
 a woman stay at the same hotel with a man she 
 knows without scandal?" 
 
 "Scandal!" Lord Ellerdine replied. "Damn the 
 scandal! It's what folks think. It's who you are. 
 Lots of women wouldn't mind staying at the same 
 hotel I was staying at, and nobody would dream 
 that there was anything wrong you wouldn't, 
 Alice. But Peggy and Collingwood make people 
 suspect them." 
 
 Lady Attwill went up to Lord Ellerdine and 
 pinched his arm playfully. "You silly old Dicky," 
 she said, "you've been listening to a lot of stupid 
 twaddle at your clubs." 
 
 "Well," he answered, "they know pretty well 
 what's going on." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose they do," she said. "Talk about 
 women and their gossip! Why, Dicky, they're not 
 in it with your smoke-room gang." 
 
 73
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 At that moment Pauline entered from Mrs. Ad- 
 maston's bedroom. There was a hardly veiled hos- 
 tility in her face as she spoke, though her manner 
 was civil enough, "Madame will see Lady Attwill," 
 she said. 
 
 Lady Attwill swept across the room, flashing a 
 somewhat curious glance at the old maidservant as 
 she passed her, and entered the bedroom- 
 Lord Ellerdine had strolled up to the fireplace. 
 "Tell Peggy I am waiting," he called out 
 
 "All right," Lady Attwill said. "You amuse 
 yourself for a few minutes," 
 
 Lord Ellerdine began to hum a little tune; then 
 he noticed Pauline, who was arranging some violets 
 upon a side table. "Morning, Pauline," he said. 
 "How's madame?" 
 
 "She has a headache," the maid replied; "just a 
 little nervous. Is your lordship well?" 
 
 "No, I am not well, Pauline, I am sorry to say. 
 I feel very groggy. I have been all night in a 
 confounded slow train." 
 
 Pauline said nothing, but left the room just as 
 the third door opened and Collingwood came briskly 
 into the room. 
 
 He was wearing a lounge suit of dark blue. The 
 air of poise and easy carriage which was so marked 
 a part of his personality was very much in evidence 
 now. There was a quiet spring in his step, a brisk 
 
 74
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and cheery purpose in his movements, and he seemed 
 singularly alert and debonnaire; perfectly dressed, a 
 very proper man to look at, but somehow or other 
 without a suggestion of foppishness, which Lord 
 Ellerdine always managed to convey. His face was 
 calm and composed, but a close observer would 
 have noticed that there were dark rings under the 
 eyes and that the face was slightly paler than its 
 wont. 
 
 "Oh, there you are!" Lord Ellerdine said 
 
 "Hello, Ellerdine!" Collingwood replied. "Bright 
 and early as usual?" 
 
 "Early, yes," said the other; "but not so deuced 
 bright, old chap." 
 
 "When did you get here?" 
 
 "About five o'clock." 
 
 "Had breakfast?" 
 
 "No," said Lord Ellerdine, "I had a bath, a 
 shave, a change, and a brandy-and-soda." 
 
 Collingwood went up to the window and sat look- 
 ing idly down into the Rue de Rivoli. 
 
 "Refreshing, but not very filling," he said. "Stay- 
 ing here?" 
 
 "No," Lord Ellerdine replied; "they would not 
 let us in. It's race-week, you know. They are 
 packed out. The place is full of big bookies and 
 racing fellows. We had to go to the St. Denis. 
 A nice fix you've got us all in, Collingwood!" 
 
 75
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Collingwood turned away from the window. 
 
 "Fix ? I've got you in ? How do you mean ?" 
 
 Lord Ellerdine struggled to find words in which 
 to express his meaning. 
 
 "I'm blowed if I know quite. Anyway, we're 
 in it." 
 
 "I don't understand," Collingwood answered. 
 
 "Oh, come on!" replied Lord Ellerdine. "Chuck 
 that business, Colling! I know your beastly way 
 of putting a fellow off, but you can't leave me out 
 of this." 
 
 Collingwood lit a cigarette very deliberately. 
 "Leave you out?" he said. 
 
 "Wish to heavens you could T was the rejoinder. 
 
 Collingwood perched himself on the end of the 
 sofa, swinging his legs. "Look here, what's up?" 
 
 "Are we at St. Moritz ?" Lord Ellerdine asked. 
 
 "No," Collingwood answered coolly. 
 
 "Are we in Switzerland?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, where are we?" 
 
 "I make a good guess/' Collingwood said, "that 
 we are in Paris." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine flushed up and began to get 
 angry. 
 
 "Well, there you are !" he said. "Damn it, there 
 you are! And you have got the sublime cheek to 
 ask me what's up," 
 
 76
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Collingwood smiled. "Now, don't get ratty, 
 Dicky," he said. "It's all right. Only a trifling 
 contretemps. We got on the wrong train by mis- 
 take." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine began to stroll up and down the 
 room. He tried to be judicial in his manner. "Now, 
 are you telling me that for a fact or for a joke?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Fact absolute fact. We were kept until the last 
 moment paying duty on Peggy's cigarettes, and had 
 to rush for the train " 
 
 He had been going to say something further, but 
 Lord Ellerdine interrupted him. "I saw you," he 
 said. 
 
 Here Collingwood cut in suddenly: "Yes, get- 
 ting into the train that was on the move." 
 
 "Yes," Lord Ellerdine said, "the Paris express. 
 You jumped Peggy on and sprang after her, drag- 
 ging her maid with you. A clever bit of work, my 
 friend." 
 
 Collingwood shrugged his shoulders. "Well, 
 where were you?" he replied. 
 
 "In the other train the right one. With Alice. 
 It was a rotten thing for you to do." 
 
 "What, leave you with Alice?" 
 
 Lord Ellerdine shook his head impatiently. "No, 
 no,' 1 he said irritably ; "to leave us in the lurch like 
 that" 
 
 77
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "But I telegraphed to you to Chalons that we 
 had got on the wrong train." 
 
 "Yes, you wired to Chalons right enough, but 
 that didn't make it true. I would not have gone 
 if Alice had not persuaded me that the train was 
 running in two parts, and that you would be sure 
 to join us at Chalons." 
 
 "Well, it's all right now," Collingwood replied, 
 still preserving the perfect sang-froid with which 
 he had listened to all the other's remarks. "It's all 
 right now, so don't let's say any more about it." 
 
 "All right now, by Jove !" Ellerdine replied. "Is 
 it? Suppose Admaston hears about it what?" 
 
 "Of course," Collingwood said, "if you think it 
 is absolutely necessary, we'll invent some yarn that 
 will satisfy him." 
 
 "I do think it necessary. But you'll have to do 
 it. I never could invent never. No good at it. 
 Confound you, Colling, leaving us . . ." 
 
 Collingwood's manner changed from coolness to 
 something more intimate. "Now, look here, Dicky," 
 he said persuasively. "I didn't think you'd cut up 
 rough about it. I thought Alice possibly might, 
 but not you." 
 
 "Oh, she doesn't mind," Ellerdine answered. 
 "She never believes that people get on the wrong 
 train, or have motor accidents so that they can 
 have a night off." 
 
 78
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Collingwood put his feet down to the floor and 
 threw the end of his cigarette into the fireplace. 
 "Now, look here," he said; "do you mean that you 
 think that I " He hesitated for a moment. 
 
 "No, I don't," Lord Ellerdine answered; "but 
 what will Admaston think? He is sure to hear of 
 it. I'll bet you a fiver it's known in London to- 
 night. There is always someone on the spot to 
 notice things that go wrong, and this is so suspicious 
 so damned suspicious, mind you. Why, / don't 
 like the look of it mind, the look of it myself." 
 
 "Then we must set your conscience at rest, that's 
 all," Collingwood replied. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Well, we must all have a proper, coherent, con- 
 nected yarn to tell. That's quite simple." 
 
 Ellerdine shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't 
 think it will work," he said. "You can't get four 
 people to tell the same yarn without variation. 
 There's sure to be one -let it down just where it 
 ought to be kept up." 
 
 "If it were a long, complicated yarn, perhaps," 
 said Collingwood; "but I don't mean that at all. 
 Just a plain, unvarnished tale." 
 
 "Unvarnished!" the peer replied. "Well, it'll 
 take a deuce of a lot of paint to make this one look 
 all right." 
 
 79
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Not a bit of it," Collingwood replied. "Easy 
 as anything." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine went to the fireplace once more 
 and stood with his back to the flames. "Right ho," 
 he said; "go ahead." 
 
 "Here you are, then," Collingwood began. "We 
 all got on the wrong train." 
 
 "But we didn't." 
 
 "Damn it!" Collingwood said, "of course \ve 
 didn't; but we'll say we did." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine began to check the points upon 
 the fingers of one hand, as if anxious to commit 
 them to memory even at this early stage. "Am I 
 to say we did ?" he asked. 
 
 "We will all say we did," Collingwood replied. 
 
 "I shall never be able to," Lord Ellerdine re- 
 marked hopelessly. 
 
 "Confound it, Dicky! Are you the George 
 Washington of the lot?" 
 
 The peer shook his head more vigorously. That 
 imputation, at anyrate, he was anxious to avoid. 
 "No, no," he said quickly; "it's not the truth that 
 bothers me. It's getting the blooming fib to sound 
 all right." 
 
 Collingwood repeated his instruction as if he were 
 teaching a lesson to a child, speaking slowly and 
 impressively. " 'We all got on the wrong train.' 
 There's nothing difficult about saying that." 
 
 80
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Lord Ellerdine repeated the sentence in exactly 
 the same voice. 
 
 " 'We all got on the wrong train/ " 
 
 "Bravo, Dicky !" said Collingwood. "Now then, 
 don't relax your attention, old chap. The next is 
 that we all stayed the night at this hotel." 
 
 The index finger of Lord Ellerdine's right hand 
 moved from the thumb to the first finger of his left. 
 He appeared to have got it all right, when suddenly 
 a doubt seemed to enter the vacant spaces of his 
 mind. 
 
 "What, here?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, here ; at this hotel." 
 
 "Oh ! Come, old chap ! Doesn't that look like a 
 bally lie? Now think it over for yourself. Listen. 
 'We all stayed the night at this hotel.' " 
 
 Collingwood was a patient man, and he listened 
 without any betrayal of what he really felt in dealing 
 with this pleasant fool. 
 
 "Well," he said, "what's wrong with it?" 
 
 "Oh! it lacks something," was the reply; and 
 though the speaker did not amplify his statement, 
 his voice was full of doubt and hesitation. 
 
 "Oh, rot!" Collingwood answered. "It's only 
 wrong because we didn't stay here. If you can say, 
 'We all got on the wrong train,' surely to goodness 
 you can say that we all stayed the night at this 
 hotel?" 
 
 81
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Yes," Ellcrdine answered slowly. "I suppose it 
 ought to be easy enough." 
 
 "No wonder you chucked diplomacy," Colling- 
 wood said. 
 
 "Oh ! I didn't mind a fib or two for international 
 reasons." 
 
 "I see," Collingwood rejoined. "Your conscience 
 begins to prick you only when fibs are told for 
 domestic purposes." 
 
 "Well, you see, you run much greater risks of 
 being found out. It's awful to be found out in an 
 ordinary lie people make such a fuss of other 
 people's lies." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that national lies are 
 never found out?" 
 
 "Well, you see," Ellerdine replied the discussion 
 was getting a little bit beyond him, and again he 
 struggled to find words, "you see, national lies are 
 not about persons." Then he shook his head. "I'm 
 damned bad at it, Collingwood," he said in a final 
 sort of voice. "I can't rely on my memory. I sup- 
 pose there's no other way out of it?" 
 
 "My dear chap, none whatever," Collingwood 
 said. 
 
 ' 'We all got on the wrong train,' " Ellerdine re- 
 peated to himself slowly in a sing-song voice; and 
 then, looking up brightly, "Does seem easy, doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 82
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Top hole," said Collingwood. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Lord Ellerdine began to repeat 
 the second half of his lesson. " 'We all stayed the 
 night at this hotel.' There's something wrong with 
 that." 
 
 "It's only your sense of the scrupulous," Colling- 
 wood replied. "Only say it often enough. Say it 
 thirty or forty times; then it will sound all right." 
 
 At this moment the door opened and Lady Attwill 
 came in. She looked quickly at Collingwood and 
 he at her. 
 
 "Good morning," he said. "Well, how is 
 Peggy?" 
 
 "She has a bad headache," Lady Attwill replied. 
 "She's coming in in a minute or two. I have had 
 a warm quarter of an hour, I can tell you, though I 
 am sure I don't know what / have done . . ." 
 
 If the woman was acting she was acting su- 
 premely, for there seemed genuine disgust in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Is she much cut up?" Lord Ellerdine asked. 
 
 "I should think she is! She's dreadfully cut up! 
 I don't know what we are to do," Lady Attwill said. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine suddenly became important; his 
 little mouth smiled brightly. He was the bearer of 
 good news. "Oh, that's all settled," he said, rub- 
 bing his hands briskly together. "I and Colling- 
 wood have arranged it all." 
 
 83
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Arranged what?" Lady Attwill asked. 
 
 "Well, do you see, we all " 
 
 The bright expression faded from the ex-diplo 
 matist's face. "Tell her, Collingwood," he said. 
 "My head won't work. I've forgotten everything 
 already." 
 
 "You've never given Dicky anything to think 
 about?" Lady Attwill said in mock alarm. 
 
 "Not much," Collingwood answered. 
 
 Ellerdine flushed up angrily. "Not much!" he 
 cried. "He gets on the wrong train. He leaves us 
 standing at the post like a couple of sublime martyrs. 
 Goes off to Paris and leaves us kicking our con- 
 founded heels at Chalons. We come here after 
 them find the hotel full of bookies travel all night 
 in a beastly slow train no sleep, no food, no Swit- 
 zerland. Not much to think about ! I shall have an 
 attack of brain fever after this affair." 
 
 Lady Attwill went up to the enraged gentleman. 
 "Poor Dicky!" she said soothingly. "He's had a 
 bad night. Dicky is no good unless he gets his 
 proper sleep. Now sit down, there's a good boy, and 
 let's talk it over properly." 
 
 She led him to a chair with a radiant smile, and 
 then turned to Collingwood. "Now tell me, what 
 is it that you have arranged?" As she said this 
 she felt in the side pocket of his coat and drew out 
 
 84
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 his cigarette case. Opening it, she gave him one 
 and took one for herself, struck a match and lit it. 
 
 "Well," Collingwood answered, leaning over the 
 back of the sofa on which his friend had seated 
 herself. "A short, straight tale simple, to the 
 point, and easy to tell." 
 
 "The truth?" Lady Attwill asked. 
 
 "The truth! Never! Who's going to tell Ad- 
 maston the truth?" Lord Ellerdine burst out 
 
 "How's he to know?" Lady Attwill said. 
 
 "Know!" Ellerdine retorted. "I'll bet Colling- 
 wood a fiver all London knows to-night." 
 
 He looked anxiously at the other man, unable to 
 understand how he could take things so easily, ab- 
 solutely unconscious of anything underlying this 
 unfortunate occurrence, absolutely unsuspicious of 
 the sinister forces at work around him. 
 
 "Oh, bosh!" Collingwood answered. "Anyway, 
 we can say we all got on the wrong train." 
 
 " 'That we all got on the wrong train/ " came 
 with parrot-like precision from the diplomatist. 
 
 "But we didn't," Lady Attwill said, looking from 
 one to the other. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine jumped up from his chair, his 
 face radiant with triumph. "There you are!" he 
 said to Collingwood. "Just what I told you !" 
 
 Lady Attwill became alive to the situation. "Oh, 
 85
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 I see," she said; "that is the short, straight, simple 
 tale. I see. 'We all got on the wrong train.' ' 
 
 "You see, Dicky !" Collingwood said with a smile. 
 "See how quickly Alice picks it up." 
 
 "Oh, she's used to it," said Ellerdine. "She picks 
 up things very quickly. But tell her the sequel 
 that's the water-jump for me." 
 
 "Come on; let's have a look at it," said Lady 
 Attwill. 
 
 Collingwood seemed vastly amused. He assumed 
 the air of a comedian. His hands fluttered before 
 him in pantomime. His handsome face became droll 
 and merry. 
 
 " 'We all stayed the night at this hotel/ " he said. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine nodded with an anxious look in 
 his eyes towards Lady Attwill. "Now try that," 
 he said. 
 
 " 'We all stayed the night at this hotel,' " said 
 Lady Attwill with perfect naturalness and ease. 
 
 "There you are !" said Collingwood. 
 
 The middle-aged fool in the arm-chair was quite 
 interested and pleased. He saw nothing of the grim- 
 ness which underlay this gay, light-hearted chatter, 
 in this gay and brilliant room. The other two, man 
 and woman, were playing their parts most skilfully 
 not so much to deceive Ellerdine, but to trick 
 themselves into the belief that they were not engaged 
 in a very dirty, ugly business. 
 
 86
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 It's an extraordinary thing, but nevertheless per- 
 fectly true, that people who are able to infuse a 
 sinister and tragic moment with mocking gaiety 
 certainly provide for themselves an anodyne to the 
 pain and fear it would otherwise bring them. 
 
 No doubt that is why the devil is generally rep- 
 resented as smirking or leering. 
 
 The door opened and the Scotch-French waiter 
 with a large tray entered, followed by another also 
 carrying a tray, but whose swarthy features and 
 thick purple lips proclaimed him no hybrid, but a 
 true son of the Cote d'Azur. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine jumped up. "Food !" he said. "I 
 am starving." 
 
 Lady Attwill rose also. "Poor Dicky must al- 
 ways have his food," she said. "I always think he 
 never seems quite human till he has had his break- 
 fast. When we were down at his place to- 
 gether " 
 
 Collingwood nudged her with a warning look. 
 "Piano!" he said. 
 
 "What about?" she whispered, with a rather sar- 
 donic grin. "I don't want to play." 
 
 "The waiter, I mean," Collingwood replied. 
 
 "Bien !" she answered, seating herself in front of 
 the cafetiere and pouring out the hot brown coffee. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine had also sat down. He looked 
 at his as yet empty plate and drummed with his 
 
 87
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 fingers upon the table-cloth. " 'We all stayed the 
 night at this hotel/ " he said in a perfectly audible 
 voice. 
 
 "Oui, monsieur," said Jacques of Ecclefechan 
 suddenly. 
 
 Ellerdine started and looked up, his face express- 
 ing great surprise. "Get away," he said. "I wasn't 
 speaking to you." 
 
 Collingwood frowned. His nerves, now, didn't 
 seem quite under the same control as they had been 
 before. "Laissez les autres choses, garqon. Nous 
 nous servirons." 
 
 "Bien, monsieur," said the waiter, with an ugly 
 and furtive smile upon his face, which nobody no- 
 ticed, as he left the room. 
 
 "Come on, Alice. Where's my coffee ?" said Lord 
 Ellerdine. 
 
 "There you are," she answered. "Coffee, 
 Colling?" 
 
 Collingwood nodded. "What is there?" he asked. 
 
 Lady Attwill lifted the covers. "Omelette, bacon, 
 sole, mushrooms." 
 
 "Sole for me." 
 
 "Bacon and mushrooms, Alice," Ellerdine re- 
 marked, quite himself again at the thought of 
 breakfast. 
 
 "You have no idea how I buck up after a cup of 
 coffee," he continued; "but, upon my soul, I feel 
 
 88
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 like a fried flounder this morning. I don't think I 
 shall ever be in a hotter place than that confounded 
 train from Chalons." 
 
 "Yes, you will, Dicky," Lady Attwill remarked, 
 taking a piece of toast from the rack. 
 
 "Oh yes, you will, Dicky," Collingwood echoed; 
 "don't make any mistake about that." 
 
 "After all," Lady Attwill went on, "it wasn't so 
 bad. You worried; that was what made you hot." 
 
 "You don't know anything about it. You slept 
 like a log all the way," Ellerdine said. 
 
 "Easy conscience," answered the lady, beginning 
 her breakfast with great satisfaction. 
 
 "You didn't get on the wrong train," said Eller- 
 dine meaningly. 
 
 Collingwood put down his fish-fork. The long 
 strain to which his nerves had been subjected, the 
 irritation which he had so well suppressed until 
 now, had its way with him and burst out. 
 
 "Oh, damn it !" he said, "you two make me tired. 
 Do shut up about the wrong train. Let's have our 
 breakfast in peace." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine busied himself with his mush- 
 rooms. "I wish I had a hide as thick as yours, 
 Colling, old man," he said. "You do take things 
 smoothly. Look at him, Alice eating away as if 
 he was on his honeymoon !" 
 
 89
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Collingwood glared at his vis-b-vis. "Honey- 
 moon!" he said. 
 
 "He doesn't care a fig about getting us into this 
 mess. What excellent bacon they have here !" Lord 
 Ellerdine went on. 
 
 Again Collingwood got the better of his rising 
 temper. "Oh, you'll be all right, Dicky," he said, 
 "when we get to St. Moritz to-morrow." 
 
 "We're not going," Lady Attwill said shortly. 
 
 Collingwood started. "We are," he said. 
 
 "Wrong, my boy," said Lady Attwill again. 
 ''Peggy is going back." 
 
 "Back! Back where?" 
 
 "To London." 
 
 "She doesn't mean it?" Collingwood said, putting 
 down his fork and looking straight at Lady Attwill. 
 
 She nodded at him, and he knew that what she 
 said was true. 
 
 "There you are!" piped out in Lord Ellerdine's 
 voice. "I knew it ; I felt it in my bones all the time 
 I was in that beastly train. Peggy's got the hump. 
 You have spoilt the whole show, Colling. I can't 
 eat any more." 
 
 He pushed his chair away from the table with a 
 perplexed and angry face, and began to walk up 
 and down the room. 
 
 "Hang it!" Collingwood said, "is this the first 
 time that anyone got on the wrong train?" 
 
 90
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL! 
 
 "No, it is not," Ellerdine answered shortly. "But 
 it is the first time it has happened to Peggy. 'Any- 
 body but Peggy." 
 
 "It seems to me," Collingwood said, "that we are 
 making a lot of unnecessary fuss." 
 
 "Yes ; let's drop it," came from Lady Attwill. 
 
 "Alice," Lord Ellerdine persisted, "don't you 
 agree with me?" 
 
 She sighed, but it was necessary to preserve ap- 
 pearances. "Well, Dicky," she said, "Peggy has 
 not shown a tenacious desire to observe the strict 
 letter of every propriety. I know that there has 
 been nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing but little 
 frisks and frolics now and then quite all right 
 actually looking perhaps worse than they were 
 nothing else. But, after all, it is not what you 
 do; the trouble of it is what other folks say 
 you do." 
 
 The persistent moralist was not to be put off. 
 "The married woman," he said, in a voice as near 
 to a pulpit manner as he could get, "cannot afford 
 to have anyone say a word. Look at Alice. Before 
 Attwill kicked the bucket she lived in a glass case. 
 Didn't you, Alice?" 
 
 Collingwood chuckled : not merrily at all, but with 
 a rather nasty cynicism a snigger, in fact. 
 
 "Look here, Dicky," he said, "if you don't stop
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 your sickening habit of preaching left-handed mor- 
 ality at me I'll give you up. I can't stand it. I 
 am not moral don't know the first thing about it 
 never met anybody who did. Man is not moral ; 
 environment makes it impossible. You're not moral, 
 Dicky, although you may think you are. And as 
 for society, it is absolutely unmoral." 
 
 "I say ! I say ! I say ! Listen to our future Home 
 Secretary!" said Lord Ellerdine. 
 
 "No fear," Collingwood answered. "I leave that 
 field to Admaston and the other cackling crew of 
 humbugs." 
 
 Lady Attwill laughed amusedly, and Ellerdine 
 was about to say something else, when the door 
 opened and Peggy entered. 
 
 She was very simply but very expensively dressed 
 in an exquisite walking-dress of a colour which was 
 neither grey nor amethyst, but a cunning blend of 
 both. At her breast she wore a little sprig of white 
 lilac. There was a sudden silence as she entered, 
 a silence almost as if the three people were con- 
 spirators. 
 
 Peggy walked briskly up to the table, nodding 
 and smiling. "Well, you're a nice lot," she said. 
 "Why didn't you tell me breakfast was ready? I 
 have been dying for a cup of coffee. Anything 
 good in the food line? Something smells good. 
 What is it? Mushrooms just the very thing! J 
 
 92
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 like mushrooms. Remind one of early risings and 
 misty mornings. How are you, Dicky? Alice, 
 give me some coffee, there's a dear. Hello, Colling ! 
 any news?" 
 
 Her chatter was more general than addressed to 
 any particular person, and she didn't seem to re- 
 quire any answer to her questions. At anyrate, 
 nobody made any answer, and there was an un- 
 comfortable silence as Peggy began her breakfast. 
 
 "You're a jolly lot," she said after a minute or 
 so. "What's up with you all? These mushrooms 
 are nice. Dicky, pass the toast. What ? I thought 
 you said something, Alice." 
 
 Lady Attwill shook her head. "No," she an- 
 swered in a rather strained voice. 
 
 There was another silence. Suddenly Peggy 
 put down her knife and fork with a little clatter 
 and rose from her chair. "This room is horribly 
 stuffy," she said, going to the window. "There, 
 that's better. Oh! what a lovely morning! Dear 
 old Paris ! how I do love it !" 
 
 She seemed restless and unable to remain long in 
 one position, and soon she had fluttered back to the 
 breakfast-table. 
 
 "Alice," she said, "please pour me out another 
 cup of coffee. Well, Dicky, I put my foot into it 
 nicely last night, didn't I?" 
 
 93
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Yes, you jolly well did," Lord Ellerdine an- 
 swered shortly. 
 
 "I knew what you wanted to talk about, Dicky," 
 she said. 
 
 Collingwood interposed. "Peggy, don't go on 
 like that. I have explained it to Dicky." 
 
 "Were you quite the one to explain?" she asked. 
 
 "Well," Collingwood replied, "it was my fault I 
 rushed you into the train." 
 
 . Lord Ellerdine started. Something already be- 
 ginning to be familiar had penetrated his conscious- 
 ness. "We all got on the wrong train," he said. 
 
 "Oh! All?" Peggy asked. 
 
 "Yes," said the diplomatist "yes no that's 
 what we're going to say." 
 
 "To whom?" asked Peggy. 
 
 "Well well to well, to anyone who wants to 
 know." 
 
 "Who should want to know?" Peggy asked. 
 
 "Oh, no one, Peggy," said Lady Attwill; "but 
 it's best to be prepared, you know." 
 
 "But I don't know. Why should I know? Be 
 prepared for what?" 
 
 "Nothing, dear, absolutely nothing. Only, some 
 chatty fool might ask." 
 
 "Ask what?" 
 
 "Well awkward questions." 
 
 "About getting on the wrong train?" 
 94
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Yes and " 
 
 pressed home her questions. She would 
 not understand. "What else?" she said. 
 
 ''We all stayed the night at this hotel," Lord 
 Ellerdine remarked. 
 
 "Did we?" Peggy asked. 
 
 "Yes," he said "no ! Oh ! But it is best to be 
 prepared." 
 
 "I see," Peggy said at last. "What a dull crea- 
 ture I am ! Dear me ! how stupid I didn't see it be- 
 fore! You have all made it up to put me right. 
 You and Alice didn't go to Switzerland you came 
 on to Paris. You and Alice didn't get to Chalons 
 and come on here by the slow train you stayed here 
 all night. I see. Now, that's so kind and thought- 
 ful of you all! But for whom is this delightful 
 story?" 
 
 "Dicky's scruples," Collingwood said hurriedly. 
 
 "I see. Dicky wanted it, did he ?" Peggy replied. 
 "Well, Dicky, I hope your moral sensibilities are 
 quite satisfied. We all got on the wrong train and 
 we all stayed the night at this hotel." 
 
 "Quite so," Ellerdine said quickly; "just a short, 
 straight, simple tale, ready for any emergency." 
 
 "And what emergency do you expect?" 
 
 "Dearest Peggy, none at all," Lady Attwill said, 
 with a note of anxious affection in her voice. 
 
 95
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I see. I understand. But don't you think the 
 tale will need a lot of corroboration ?" 
 
 "But only if someone questions it." 
 
 "Oh!" Peggy said, and there was a world of 
 meaning in the exclamation. 
 
 "You see," Lord Ellerdine went on anxiously 
 "you see, it's all right, Peggy. We have left noth- 
 ing to chance." 
 
 Lady Attwill nodded. "Nothing at all," she said, 
 echoing her friend. 
 
 Peggy looked at them each in turn. Her sweet 
 and youthful face bore little trace of what she had 
 gone through the night before ; and though her head 
 was throbbing and her nerves were all jangling and 
 raw, her freshness and purity of countenance re- 
 mained absolutely unimpaired. Beside her Alice 
 Attwill suddenly seemed to have grown old. 
 
 She looked at them each in turn with grave con- 
 templation lastly at Collingwood. "And what do 
 you think about it, Colling?" she asked at length. 
 "Don't you think that we are a precious set of fools ? 
 No that's unkind of me. Not you, Alice. Not 
 you, Dicky. I am the precious fool. Fool ! Why, 
 I should have been in cap and bells! A thing to 
 make the whole world laugh. For only the fool 
 will ask for an explanation the wise, if they ask, 
 will look on the explanation as the better part of 
 
 96
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the joke. But tell me, Dicky, why is the explanation 
 necessary ?" 
 
 "Oh ! Come, Peggy, come. Confound it !" Lord 
 Ellerdine blundered out. "It looks so deuced bad." 
 
 Peggy made a grimace at him. "Candid!" she 
 said. "Now that was frank. 'It looks so deuced 
 bad.' That's it. Looks! But only looks. What 
 do you think, Colling ? Can't we tell the truth ? Is 
 there anything to hide?" 
 
 "Nothing," Collingwood said. 
 
 "There," Peggy went on; "there's nothing to 
 hide." 
 
 "Oh, we all know that," Lord Ellerdine said 
 hastily. 
 
 Peggy's rising temper almost got the better of 
 her. "Then why the explanation the 'short, 
 straight, simple tale'? Why not the truth?" 
 
 She clenched her hands, and an angry light burned 
 in her eyes. "Oh! I'll leave you for a moment. I 
 must go out. This place is stifling! We ought all 
 to be out in the air. We'll grow mouldy in here 
 plotting. Alice, I'll put on my hat. Colling, you 
 must invent another tale to satisfy Dicky's scruples. 
 Think it over." 
 
 She tore out of the room into her own and shut 
 the door with a rather vicious slam. 
 
 "Well, I'm jiggered !" Lord Ellerdine said 
 97
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Lady Attwill nodded with a slight tightening of 
 the lips. "I told you she was upset," she answered. 
 
 Collingwood rose from the table and went towards 
 his own room. 
 
 "Well, Dicky," he said, "I have done the best I 
 can to satisfy you. I'll get my hat and take Peggy 
 for a walk and talk it over." And he also left the 
 room. 
 
 "Well," Ellerdine remarked, "this comes of 
 thinking of your friends." He went to the fire- 
 place and gazed rather gloomily at the glowing logs. 
 "May the devil take me if I ever care a damn again 
 what folks think of 'em," he went on. 
 
 Alice Attwill went up to the window. "Dicky, 
 it is very strange," she said. "I have never seen 
 Peggy in that nasty mood before." 
 
 "I've a jolly good mind to think the worst has 
 happened," the man remarked. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, anyway, 
 Colling is not in Peggy's good books," she said, and, 
 pulling one of the large windows open, she stepped 
 out upon the balcony. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine was left alone. His face was 
 grave and perplexed; but seeing the Matin lying 
 on the sofa, where Lady Attwill had dropped it 
 before breakfast, he went up, sat down, and was 
 soon immersed in the news of the day. 
 
 There came a light tap upon the door leading 
 98
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 into the corridor, which was flung open immediately 
 afterwards. Jacques stood there holding the door 
 open. 
 
 "Mr. Admaston," he said in a loud, clear voice. 
 
 99
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A THUNDERBOLT crashing through the roof of the 
 hotel could not have startled Lord Ellerdine more 
 than the waiter's announcement : 
 
 "Mr. Admaston." 
 
 He dropped the paper, sprang to his feet as if 
 someone had struck him, while his face grew ab- 
 solutely white and the little mouth became a round 
 "O" of consternation and alarm. 
 
 George Admaston walked slowly into the room. 
 
 He was a big man of about forty years of age, 
 very quiet in manner, and with a strong, resolute 
 face. The eyes were grey and steadfast, and wore 
 that look which some people mistake for abstrac- 
 tion, but which is anything but that. They had 
 the expression of one who thinks often and much. 
 The finely chiselled mouth was set somewhat grimly, 
 and there was great force and assertiveness about 
 the slightly forward thrust of the massive chin. He 
 was dressed in quiet grey tweeds, carried a bowler 
 hat in his hand and a light coat over his arm. 
 
 "Hello, Ellerdine!" he said. "What are you do- 
 ing here ?" 
 
 100
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The voice was deep and mellow, informed with 
 weight and gravity, though pleasantly musical. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine looked hurriedly round the room. 
 It might have been thought he was seeking an ave- 
 nue of escape. 
 
 There was no one to help him, however, and he 
 began to stutter horribly, while his eyes wore the 
 look of a startled hare. "Here?" he gasped out. 
 "Oh!" His eyes fell upon the breakfast-table, and 
 an inspiration came to him. "Oh," he stuttered, 
 "just had breakfast, don't you know." 
 
 "Early for you, isn't it ?" said the big man, look- 
 ing the wretched object before him full in the face. 
 
 "It is rather early," Lord Ellerdine replied. "Been 
 travelling all " 
 
 "All what?" Admaston asked quickly. 
 
 The other was in despair. He realised what he 
 had done. He looked hopelessly round the room 
 for Alice Attwill. 
 
 "Where's Lady Attwill gone?" he gasped. 
 
 Never relaxing his gaze for a single instant, and 
 standing in the middle of the room without advanc- 
 ing further, Admaston continued : "Is she here ?" 
 
 "Oh yes," replied Lord Ellerdine. "She's here. 
 In fact, we're all here." 
 
 "Where's my wife?" 
 
 "In her room. Changing her gown. She's go- 
 ing for a walk." 
 
 101
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "But I thought you went to Switzerland," Ad- 
 maston went on. 
 
 "Did you really?" Ellerdine answered, with a 
 ghastly assumption of ingratiating affability, though 
 his hands were shaking, his mouth worked, and 
 beads of perspiration were plainly rolling down his 
 face. 
 
 Again came the grave, persistent voice: "Yes. 
 That was the plan, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Oh! Yes of course. But we all got on the 
 wrong train." 
 
 "What ?" Admaston said sharply, and a new note 
 in his voice made the ex-diplomatist jump from 
 the floor. 
 
 "We all got on the wrong train," he repeated. 
 
 "Who are we?" 
 
 "Collingwood and Peggy " 
 
 "And what train did you and Lady Attwill get 
 on?" 
 
 "The wrong one. Stupid mistake, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Very," Admaston answered. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine brightened a little. He thought 
 he was carrying things very well now. "Yes," he 
 said, "and so we all stayed the night at this hotel." 
 
 "Indeed!" Admaston replied. 
 
 The other put his shaking hands into his trousers 
 pockets. "Oh yes ! all," he said. "The proprieties 
 were most carefully observed, Admaston." 
 
 1 02
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Now, that is very interesting," Admaston re- 
 marked; and if the other had been a member of 
 the Lower House instead of the Upper, which he 
 never entered, he would have known what that 
 bland suavity of voice portended when the Cabinet 
 Minister rose to speak. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine noddetf. "Yes," he said. "But 
 what the deuce are you doing here in Paris?" 
 
 "Oh! a whim." 
 
 "Didn't expect to find us here," the wretched fool 
 continued "did you?" 
 
 "There's something on?*' Admaston answered, 
 going towards the window and talking as he went. 
 "Racing or something, isn't there?" 
 
 "Yes," Lord Ellerdine said. "Auteuil. Going 
 out?" 
 
 Lady Attwill appeared at the window. "Oh! 
 Alice," Admaston said. 
 
 She smiled brightly, extending her little mani- 
 cured hand, upon which diamonds and sapphires 
 flashed and sparkled in the brilliant light of the sun. 
 "How do you do, George?" she said. "Who ever 
 expected to see you here?" 
 
 "I don't run over often," Admaston answered, 
 just taking her hand and no more. "But I thought 
 you were at St. Moritz?" 
 
 "St. Moritz? Oh! no. We changed our minds 
 and came on to Paris. " 
 
 103
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Then you didn't get on the wrong train ?" Ad- 
 niaston said with grim politeness. 
 
 The wretched Ellerdine, who had retreated to 
 the breakfast-table and sank down upon a chair, 
 heard this, and was about to lay his head in the 
 bacon dish with alarm, when Lady Attwill's next 
 words did a little to reassure him. 
 
 "Oh yes," she said easily, going into the centre 
 of the room; "we all got on the wrong train, but 
 we changed our minds when we discovered our 
 mistake." 
 
 "Good thing you did it before it was too late." 
 
 "Did what?" she asked in a flat voice. 
 
 "Why, changed your minds before you could 
 change on to the right train." 
 
 "Wasn't it !" she replied. "And, by the way, I 
 saw an old friend of yours on the train, George." 
 
 "And who was that?" Admaston asked. 
 
 "Sir Peter Stoke," she answered. 
 
 "Really! But he must have been on the right 
 train. He was going to the Conference at Geneva." 
 
 "Oh!" she replied, "I met him at Boulogne." 
 
 There was a pause, and when he spoke again 
 Admaston's voice grew colder and colder with every 
 sentence. 
 
 "Strange," he said, nodding his head with an 
 appearance of thought fulness. "He wrote to me 
 from Amiens, where he has been staying for the 
 
 104
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 past week, that he was joining the train there ; and 
 Amiens is the first stop on the Swiss express, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 Lady Attwill almost whispered her assent 
 
 "And the Paris express doesn't stop at Amiens?" 
 
 It suddenly occurred to Lord Ellerdine that he 
 was being left out of the conversation. 
 
 "No," he said brightly. 
 
 Admaston turned round to him. 
 
 "Funny that, being already at Amiens, where 
 the Swiss express does stop, he should have gone 
 to Boulogne to catch it!" 
 
 Even the diplomatist, who had imagined that 
 things were going better, began to realise the game 
 was almost up. 
 
 "Yes, damned funny of him, wasn't it?" he said 
 feebly. 
 
 For a few moments there was an absolute silence 
 in the room. Outside, the roar of the morning 
 traffic, the tooting of motor horns, and all the gay 
 welter of things which marks a Parisian morning in 
 fine weather, only accentuated the silence in the 
 richly furnished salon. 
 
 Admaston turned and walked twice up and down 
 the room. Lord Ellerdine was still sitting, guilty 
 and miserable of aspect, in his chair at the breakfast 
 table. Lady Attwill stood quite still where she was, 
 near the window. They were both waiting to hear 
 
 105
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 what should come next Suddenly Admaston spoke. 
 
 "You found Paris very full?" he said in his icy 
 voice. 
 
 "Very," Alice Attwill replied ; "so we were lucky 
 to get m here." 
 
 "Here?" the big man asked. 
 
 "Yes; we all stayed the night at this hotel." 
 
 "You used to have a very fine old parrot," Ad- 
 maston said. 
 
 There was spirit in the woman. She gave a little 
 toss of her head. "Er I have her still," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Not stuffed, I hope," he said. 
 
 "No, indeed. Alive and lacking.** 
 
 There was a rattle of a handle, and the door of 
 Collingwood's room opened and he came into the 
 room. 
 
 He gave one slight start, no more, and his manner 
 immediately became easy and natural. "Hallo !" he 
 said. "Admaston !" 
 
 The big man regarded him gravely, showing no 
 emotion whatever. 
 
 "Well, Collingwood," he said very slowly and 
 distinctly, "I thought I would just run over and 
 see ** Then he stopped speaking. 
 
 "How did you know that we were here?" Col- 
 lingwood said. 
 
 "From a friend," Admaston answered. 
 106
 
 The fool had to have his say. 'That's very 
 funny, Admaston," he said. "We didn't know oar- 
 selves." 
 
 "You surprise me. Didn't you know you were 
 going to St. Moritz?" 
 
 "Of course we didn't know," Lady Attwill said 
 quickly. 
 
 "Then how on earth could your friend know?" 
 Lord Ellerdine asked. 
 
 There was a complete pause. Nobody said a 
 word, but Admaston was the centre and focus of 
 the place. All eyes went to him, and then back 
 and round to each other's. He stood there, how- 
 ever, calm and imperturbable, radiating, as it were, 
 not only quiet strength and absolute determination, 
 but also sending out rays of fear, of uneasiness and 
 disturbance. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine broke the silence with his plain- 
 tive bleat, repeating his former sentence: "Then 
 how on earth could your friend know?" 
 
 "That's what I want to know," said Admaston. 
 "But why on earth are you all up so early?" 
 
 Collingwood's face had been growing sharp and 
 hostile, his nostrils twitched a little; he seemed now 
 to be definitely on the defensive, ready for the at- 
 tack. What he said was this: "Mrs. Admaston 
 wanted to go out early to see the people en route 
 to Auteuil." 
 
 107
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Admaston raised one firm, shapely hand and 
 brought it down upon the back of the other with a 
 slow movement that ended in a little "click" of 
 noise. "Mrs.?" he said. "Why Mrs. Admaston? 
 Why are you so ceremonious, Colling? Why not 
 Peggy?" ' 
 
 Collingwood looked dangerous, sulky and dan- 
 gerous. 
 
 "Don't know," he said shortly. "I thought per- 
 haps you were offended." 
 
 "Offended?" the relentless voice continued so 
 cold, relentless, and full of purpose that it chilled 
 them all as it echoed out into the room. "Is there 
 any reason why I should be offended?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said Lord Ellerdine in a staccato 
 bleat. 
 
 "Good gracious! What an idea!" Alice Attwill 
 chimed in. 
 
 Admaston turned to the ex-diplomatist. "Eller- 
 dine," he said, "you ought not to sit up so late. 
 You look very shaky this morning, and your voice 
 has a peculiarly uncertain sound." 
 
 "Do I look shaky, old man? That damned 
 journey " 
 
 "To Paris," Admaston said quickly. 
 
 "Yes, yes, to Paris." 
 
 Admaston went up to him, gazing down at him 
 with calm, reflective eyes as a mastiff regards some 
 
 1 08
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 terrified small dog. "Late suppers don't agree with 
 you/' he said. 
 
 "With me?" asked the fool, perplexed. 
 
 "With Dicky? Late suppers?" Lady Attwill in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 There was again a momentary pause. 
 
 The thing was closing in. The conspirators knew 
 well enough that they were being played with, with 
 the cold ferocity of a cat with a mouse. They were 
 brave still. They preserved their pitiful pretences, 
 but to the heart of each of them a little icicle had 
 come. 
 
 "It was after midnight before he had finished his 
 supper?" Admaston said. 
 
 "When?" Ellerdine inquired. 
 
 "Last night," Admaston rapped out. 
 
 "Dicky?" Lady Attwill said. "Why, he didn't 
 have any supper last night." 
 
 "Not a bally mouthful," said Lord Ellerdine, 
 shaking his head mournfully. 
 
 "Collingwood told me," Admaston remarked, 
 "that you had just finished supper, well after mid- 
 night." 
 
 "Well, that was a whopper," said Lady Attwill. 
 
 "He didn't know," Ellerdine spluttered in. 
 
 "Oh ! I thought not," Admaston said. "But you 
 all stayed here last night." 
 
 At that moment the sun, which had been filling 
 109
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the room with radiance, had become obscured by a 
 floating cloud. The place was informed by a mo- 
 mentary greyness. It was only early spring, after 
 all, and summer with its perpetual radiance, its per- 
 petual heat, its air of summer, which will always 
 make a room cheerful even when a thunderstorm 
 approaches, had not yet arrived. 
 
 The room became as grey as the faces of the 
 people who were in it, as grey and cold as the ac- 
 cusing voice which could not be silenced, which con- 
 tinued remorselessly. "But you all stayed here last 
 night," Admaston repeated slowly, clearly, and with 
 a definite, staccato voice. 
 
 Then there was an odd chiming of tone. The 
 anxious musical contralto of Lady Attwill mingled 
 with the more anxious, and definitely tremulous, 
 bleat of the diplomatist. 
 
 "Oh yes. We were all here," they said together. 
 
 "But no supper?" 
 
 "No supper, George," Ellerdine said in a faint 
 voice. . . . 
 
 The door opened and Jacques of Ecclefechan 
 entered. 
 
 He looked towards Lord Ellerdine. "Your man, 
 my lord, to see you," he said in excellent Scotch- 
 English. 
 
 A little wizened, elderly man with grey hair 
 closely cropped to his head, and dressed in a de- 
 
 no
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 corous lounge suit of Wack, came drooping into the 
 room. 
 
 His face was anxious, and at the same time 
 pleased. 
 
 "I telephoned to Chalons, my lord," he said. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine jumped up as if he had suddenly 
 sat down upon a pin. 
 
 "What?" he said. 
 
 "The railway people are sure they pat your dis- 
 patch-box on the 2.43 with you and Lady Attwill." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine's face became the colour of brick. 
 If his mouth had been larger it would have foamed 
 at the corners. "Get out !" he spluttered. 
 
 The little man started back a step, his arms shot 
 out in amazement, his face a mere mask of one. 
 
 "My lord!" he said. 
 
 "Get out!" 
 
 The poor fellow realised that there was obviously 
 something very wrong. It was a situation he could 
 only deal with in one way, and that was by being 
 thoroughly polite. 
 
 "Yes, my lord," he said, in a voice from which he 
 vainly tried to eliminate the amazement he felt. 
 
 Admaston turned sharply to the peer. 
 
 "What, Ellerdine?" he said. "Has your dispatch- 
 box got on the wrong train, too? What a chapter 
 of accidents r 
 
 Again there was a horrible silence in the place, 
 in
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 It was broken by a sudden, loud cry. 
 
 Peggy had entered from her room, and had seen 
 them all standing there like figures in a tableau 
 in the big hall at Madame Tussaud's. 
 
 "George!" she cried. 
 
 At that moment there was a singular change of 
 poise among the tense, strained people who were 
 there. 
 
 Lady Attwill, radiant and beautiful, strolled up 
 to the piano. 
 
 Admaston remained where he was. Collingwood 
 bent forward, almost in the attitude of a man about 
 to spring. 
 
 ''Well, Peggy. Going out?" Admaston asked. 
 
 "I was," Peggy answered ; and if ever guilty fear 
 was manifested in a human voice, the people in that 
 room heard it now. It must be remembered that 
 to people who have been upon the brink of crime or 
 misbehaviour even though they may have escaped 
 it the suspicion, when they are confronted with it, 
 has much the same effect upon their attitude as if 
 the thing had already been done. The nerves of 
 the innocent have often proclaimed them guilty to 
 the most indulgent eyes. 
 
 "I was going out," Peggy faltered. 
 
 "Wait a moment," Admaston said. 
 
 Peggy almost drooped together. 
 
 She was like an early lily of the valley suddenly 
 112
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 withered by a sharp, cold wind and all gardeners 
 will tell one how sudden and complete that wither- 
 ing and collapse can be. 
 
 "Very well," the girl answered. 
 
 Admaston raised his right hand a little, while he 
 was looking at her, grave and straight. Then his 
 arm dropped to his side. 
 
 "Ellerdine tells me that you all got on the wrong 
 train at Boulogne." 
 
 "Yes," Peggy answered. She looked anxiously, 
 and indeed piteously, at the others, wondering what 
 they had been saying, longing to be adequate, con- 
 scious of her own innocence, but dreadfully con- 
 scious of the appearance of her guilt. 
 
 Admaston and nothing escaped him saw the 
 way her look flickered round the salon. 
 
 "You did ?" he said in a voice of doom. 
 
 She did the fatal thing; she answered "Yes." 
 
 "Ellerdine also says," Admaston continued, "that 
 he and Lady Attwill stayed here last night?" 
 
 The ex-diplomatist, who, though he was a perfect 
 fool, was also a thorough gentleman, flushed up 
 and spoke in a voice from which all the fear and 
 bleating noise had gone. 
 
 "Of course we did, Admaston," he barked. "Why 
 the devil don't you believe us?" 
 
 But it was of no use; the resolute, ice-cold voice 
 went on. 
 
 "3
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And were you all at supper at midnight?" 
 
 Peggy broke in. "Why do you ask?" she said 
 and if ever there was pain and yearning in a human 
 voice it was in hers at that moment. 
 
 "Because Collingwood told me that you were," 
 Admaston answered, "and Ellerdine says he didn't 
 have any supper. Lady Attwill corroborates Eller- 
 dine's statement." 
 
 "Then why ask me? Don't you believe Colling?" 
 Peggy said with a wail of despair. 
 
 "No, I don't," Admaston said shortly. 
 
 Collingwood drummed upon the carpet with his 
 left foot. 
 
 "Admaston P* he said. 
 
 Admaston turned round to him, and his face be- 
 came, for the first time, suffused with blood. 
 
 The quiet grey eyes blazed with anger; the big, 
 capable face was transformed into a single accusa- 
 tion. The voice, at last, was directly accusing. It 
 was wonderful in its pain, its suppressed horror, 
 its certain purpose. 
 
 "I don't believe a single word I have heard since 
 I have come into this room," he said. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine took a step towards the Minister. 
 "By God! Admaston," he said. 
 
 Lady Attwill ran up to Lord Ellerdine and caught 
 him by the arm. 
 
 114
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Dicky, keep quiet," she said in a frightened but 
 very decisive voice. 
 
 "You have lied you lied to me on the telephone 
 last night." 
 
 Collingwood glared at him. 
 
 "Telephone !" Lord Ellerdine said, also turning to 
 Collingwood. "Did Admaston speak to you last 
 night on the telephone?" 
 
 "Yes," Collingwood answered. 
 
 The diplomatist was genuinely distressed. "My 
 dear fellow," he said, "why didn't you tell us?" 
 
 "Would that have saved you from saying that 
 you all got on to the wrong train? Collingwood 
 lied to me. You have lied to me. Lady Attwill 
 well I beg your pardon . . ." 
 
 Collingwood took two steps towards Peggy. 
 
 "Why should you come catechising us?" he said 
 to Admaston, and then he stepped up to him. 
 
 The two men stood in front of each other. Ad- 
 maston, with a white fire of enragement in his face, 
 still preserved his absolute calm of poise. His hands 
 were clasped behind his back, his whole forceful 
 personality seemed whetted for the aggression of 
 the other. 
 
 Collingwood, on the other hand, was panther-like 
 and alert. He almost crouched to spring at the 
 other. He was a little younger, infinitely more 
 debonnaire probably not really so physically pow-
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 erful, but at least lithe, brave, and ready for any- 
 thing. 
 
 The two men stood there for a moment, when 
 Peggy ran between them. "Oh! don't!" she cried, 
 spreading out her arms in front of Collingwood. 
 She seemed to fear her husband's heavy and certain 
 onslaught. 
 
 She protected Collingwood, not George Admas- 
 ton. Doubtless her action showed her knowledge 
 of the stronger man, her wish to protect the weaker 
 from his attack. But it was certainly most un- 
 fortunate. 
 
 "Go!" she cried. . "Please go!" And then, turn- 
 ing rapidly to Lord Ellerdine, "Dicky, take Alice 
 away." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine was trembling exceedingly. He 
 was not trembling from any physical fear. He would 
 have joined in the row with perfect happiness. It 
 would have suited him very well. He knew that 
 he had cut a sorry figure on this occasion and he 
 was not accustomed to cutting sorry figures. He 
 was not a clever man; nobody knew it better than 
 himself. But he had always considered himself to 
 be an honourable one. 
 
 Lady Attwill seemed perfectly composed. Her 
 face did not alter in expression at all, but she caught 
 hold of her friend by the arm and led him out of 
 the room. 
 
 116
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The last thing that was heard as the two departed 
 was the plaintive voice of the ex-diplomatist: "I 
 knew it I knew it." 
 
 Admaston waited until the door was closed, and 
 then he turned to Collingwood. "Why don't you 
 go?" he said. 
 
 "What are you going to do ?" Collingwood asked, 
 facing him. 
 
 The two men were white with passion. "What 
 the devil has that got to do with you?" Admaston 
 said. 
 
 "A great deal. If you loved your wife as I love 
 her you would understand what it has to do with 
 me." 
 
 "I loved her and trusted her implicitly," Ad- 
 maston answered, and even in his passion his wife 
 could detect a note of sorrow. 
 
 "Your presence here looks like it," Collingwood 
 said quickly. "Why, how did you know she was 
 here unless you had her watched? Loved and 
 trusted her ! Good God ! man, you never knew she 
 existed until another man wanted her!" 
 
 "You admit that you wanted her!" Admaston 
 snarled out. 
 
 "Yes," the other answered, standing well up ; "and 
 much good may the admission do you. I wanted her, 
 and I fought with all the weapons I dared employ, 
 and I have failed. What fight have you made for 
 
 117
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 her? It was her own purity that kept her sweet. 
 It was that purity 'that I wanted, but I have lost her." 
 He made a passionate gesture with his hands which 
 showed how deeply he was moved a gesture quite 
 unlike the ordinary English habit. 
 
 "If you have any instincts of a gentleman, you 
 have won," Admaston answered. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 Peggy, who stood there trembling, gave a wail of 
 despair. 
 
 "George, you cannot mean " 
 
 Admaston took no notice of her. 
 
 "Your methods have not been over nice," he said 
 with biting scorn : "to betray your friend to seduce 
 his wife." 
 
 "That's a lie! I don't defend myself but don't 
 you dare to say a word against her. We were great 
 friends. I loved her, and thought she loved me. 
 But she doesn't; she loves you." 
 
 "Pretty love !" the big man said. "I have finished 
 with it and with her." 
 
 Again there came a wild cry from the trembling 
 woman. "George, for God's sake!" 
 
 Now for the first time a look of fear came into 
 Collingwood's eyes. You mean to cast her off?" 
 he said "to break her spirit? No no you dare 
 not do it. You don't know what you are saying 
 you have no right . . ." 
 
 118
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "That's for the court to decide," Admaston an- 
 swered. 
 
 Peggy tried to step up to him, but he motioned 
 her not to advance further. 
 
 "Court 1" she wailed. "No, George, not that ! I 
 have done nothing, George, to forfeit your love !" 
 
 "Stop! You don't realise how much I know. I 
 saw a letter at the house yesterday before four 
 o'clock. It told me everything you intended to do 
 everything you have done. That letter brought 
 me over after you. I sent a detective to Boulogne 
 to meet you." 
 
 Peggy shook with fear. "That man?" she whis- 
 pered to herself, with a light of horror in her eyes. 
 
 "Yes," Admaston said. "I sent him. He fol- 
 lowed you to this hotel. He was here last night. 
 He is in the hotel now. He has given me this re- 
 port, and it leaves no doubt as to your guilt." 
 
 "My guilt! It is not true, George I swear to 
 you it is not true. I don't care what you have done, 
 or what letters or reports you have received. I am 
 your wife. I didn't love you at first you knew 
 that I was honest, I told you all but now ..." 
 
 "You blind fool!" Collingwood snarled out in a 
 fury of indignation, "don't you see what you are 
 doing? You are playing my game, not your own. 
 I have tried to win, I have treated her pretty badly, 
 but I don't want to win her now. Don't you see, 
 
 119
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 man, if you call in the court to break her wings 
 you'll only drive her to me?" 
 
 "Yes," Admaston answered with a bitter sneer, 
 "I see and you don't seem very anxious to go 
 through with it" 
 
 Collingwood looked at him for a moment, trem- 
 bling with the desire to fly at his throat. He re- 
 strained himself, however, with a tremendous ef- 
 fort, and with an inarticulate growl of rage turned 
 and left the room. 
 
 Peggy came timidly towards her husband. 
 "George, you are not going to send me away?" she 
 said. 
 
 Admaston covered his face with his hands. "My 
 God! Peggy, you lied to me," he said in a broken 
 voice. "A lie a lie on your lips! Oh, Peggy, 
 Peggy, what have I done to you?" 
 
 "George, I did lie," she wailed "yes, I did; but 
 only that, only that ! I am your wife! Believe me! 
 believe me!" 
 
 "My wife! No no! How am I to believe you? 
 How am I to tell whether that's a lie or not?" 
 
 "It's the truth!" she reiterated, her voice shrill 
 with pain. "I swear it! I am as much your wife 
 as I was the day you married me." 
 
 Unable to stand longer, she sank down upon the 
 sofa, sobbing terribly. 
 
 "You have broken me," the man said "crushed 
 J30
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 me. Oh! I was mad to let you do it! I was 
 a fool to leave you alone! But I trusted you. I 
 laughed at the gossip. The ridicule only made my 
 trust in you the greater. I worshipped you, adored 
 you! My whole life was a prayer to you, my am- 
 bition to make you proud of me. My whole aim in 
 life was to win you, by doing big things for you. 
 And now it is all turned to desecration to be the 
 mock of the crowd!" 
 
 "Forgive me, George," she sobbed, "forgive me! 
 I'll come to you. I am humble, not you. I am 
 struck down, crushed. But Fll be your slave. I 
 am still your wife. I am still " 
 
 He gazed at her searchingly. "You love Colling- 
 wood," he said in a hollow, empty voice. 
 
 "No, no! There was a time when I thought I 
 did." 
 
 "You thought you did ! When did you think it ? 
 Last night?" 
 
 "No, George, no ! I love you ! I knew that last 
 night, if I never knew it before. I love you, 
 George !" 
 
 "I don't believe you," he answered coldly. "You 
 and he were together alone when I telephoned." 
 
 He spoke very deliberately now. "Was he," he 
 asked "was he with you when I telephoned at one 
 o'clock?" 
 
 121
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Yes," Peggy answered, knowing well what the 
 
 admission must convey. "Yes but . . ." 
 "Alone together from ten o'clock? . . ." 
 "Yes," she said, still more faintly; "but . . ." 
 "Alone together from the time I telephoned?" 
 "No, no, George ! not after that ; I swear it !" 
 "I know far too much to believe a word you say," 
 
 he replied, and there was a note of absolute finality 
 
 in his voice. 
 
 She saw that he had made up his mind that she 
 
 was doomed. 
 
 "I know too much to believe a word you say," 
 
 he repeated. "You were alone with him. My God ! 
 
 Alone with him !" 
 
 In a moment or two Peggy looked up through a 
 
 mist of tears. The room was empty. 
 Peggy was left alone. 
 
 122
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ONE morning upon a dull day in the late summer 
 of the same year in which Mrs. Admaston had 
 stayed at the Hotel des Tuileries in Paris, Colonel 
 Adams came down to breakfast at the Cocoa Tree 
 Club. He ordered his grilled kidneys in the quaint, 
 old-fashioned dining-room, with its rare sporting 
 prints and air of sober comfort, and took up his 
 morning paper. His eyes fell upon the cause list 
 of the Royal Courts of Justice, and he sighed. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Henry Passhe, whose 
 leave from India had been extended for reasons of 
 health, and who was also a member of the famous 
 club in St. James's Street, entered and sat down by 
 his friend. 
 
 "Well," he said, "do you still hold to your reso- 
 lution, Adams?" 
 
 The colonel sighed, and put down his knife and 
 fork. "I don't know, old chap," he said doubtfully. 
 "It's different for you. You see, you don't know 
 Mrs. Admaston. I know her quite well, and I 
 really doubt whether it is the chivalrous thing to 
 do, to go and stare at her, as if she was a sort of 
 
 123
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 show. She'll be undergoing tortures all day, poor 
 little thing!" 
 
 "Just as you like," Passhe answered. "I confess 
 to great curiosity myself, and of course everyone 
 who can possibly get in will be going, whether they 
 are friends of Mrs. Admaston or of her husband. 
 It's great good luck, my getting two seats like this ; 
 but don't come unless you like. I can easily find 
 someone else who will be only too glad to drop in 
 for an hour or two. That's all I want to do just 
 to see what's going on. You see it is the case of the 
 century almost. I am not up in the statistics of this 
 sort of thing, but I doubt if a Cabinet Minister, who 
 is also one of the wealthiest men in England, has 
 ever brought an action for divorce against his wife, 
 who is not only as rich as he in her own right, but 
 also is co-partner in one of the biggest financial 
 houses in Europe. That's the way I look at it." 
 
 "Well, I'll come," the colonel said suddenly. "It 
 can't do any harm, after all; and I am sure all my 
 sympathies are with Mrs. Admaston, though of 
 course . . ." 
 
 Passhe nodded. "But there is absolutely no doubt 
 about it," he said, "of course. But naturally, old 
 chap, the fact of our both being in the hotel in Paris 
 at the very time it all happened gives the thing a 
 special interest for us. When I go back to India 
 everybody will be wanting to know all about it ; and 
 
 124
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 as I have got a chance to be present at part of the 
 trial, I really can't forego it." 
 
 "That's settled, then," Adams replied, as the two 
 men strolled into the big smoke-room, where the 
 brown-cased Cocoa Tree is put with all its old as- 
 sociations of the past. They fidgeted about a little, 
 smoked a cigarette, while they looked down into the 
 busy St. James's Street from the great Georgian 
 windows, looked at their watches, and then hailed a 
 taxi-cab and were driven to the Law Courts. 
 
 Court II. in the Probate, Divorce, and Admiralty 
 Division of the High Court of Justice was crowded 
 almost to suffocation as the two men entered and 
 found, with some difficulty, the seats which had been 
 allotted to them. They settled themselves quietly in 
 their places in the well of the court. 
 
 The President was writing something in the book 
 before him, and seated below the judge was the as- 
 sociate, while the usher stood a few yards away. 
 
 Lots of people and these the most fortunate 
 have never had occasion to visit a law court. It 
 was so with Colonel Adams. This was the first time 
 he had ever entered the great building at the junction 
 of Fleet Street and the Strand, and he gazed round 
 him with great interest. 
 
 125
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 He saw many faces that he knew. Immediately 
 around him were the privileged of society sitting 
 behind the solicitors; Admaston, Roderick Colling- 
 wood, the maid Pauline, and Lord Ellerdine. 
 
 In the second row the leading counsel sat. 
 
 Mr. Menzies, hawk-faced and saturnine of aspect, 
 the horse-hair wig which framed his face only ac- 
 centuating the hatchet-like alertness of his counte- 
 nance. Sir Robert Fyffe, huge-framed, and with a 
 face like the risen moon. Mr. M'Arthur, a youthful- 
 looking man, handsome and debonnaire, but with 
 something rather dangerous and threatening in his 
 face. 
 
 Behind the leaders sat a row of junior counsel; 
 and then Lady Attwill, other members of society, 
 and the two friends who had driven from the Cocoa 
 Tree Club. 
 
 The gallery at the back of the court was packed 
 with people, and there was a curious hush and still- 
 ness over everything. 
 
 All eyes were directed to one point to the wit- 
 ness-box, where Mrs. Admaston was standing. 
 
 At the moment when the two men entered both 
 Mr. M'Arthur and Sir Robert Fyffe were standing 
 up. 
 
 "I have noted your question, Mr. M'Arthur, and 
 do not think it is admissible at this stage," the 
 President was saying. "No doubt, if Sir Robert's 
 
 126
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 cross-examination follows a certain line, you can 
 return to the matter when you re-examine your 
 witness." 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe sat down, 
 
 "If your lordship pleases," he said. 
 
 Mr. M' Arthur turned over the leaves of a note- 
 book. He was Mrs. Admaston's leading counsel, 
 and his examination continued: 
 
 "Now, Mrs, Admaston, let me be quite sure that 
 you dearly understand the charges you have to meet. 
 It is alleged that you arranged to miss the train at 
 Boulogne in order to spend the evening in Paris 
 with the co-respondent." 
 
 "That is not true," pierced through the dull, 
 blanket-like silence of the court. 
 
 Few people enough have any experience of a court 
 They read long and large accounts of what goes on 
 in the daily papers. Well-known descriptive writers 
 endeavour to present a true picture of what they 
 themselves have witnessed. And in the result al- 
 most every one whose experience of trials is taken 
 almost entirely from the newspapers imagines that 
 the scene of justice is some vast hall. It is all mag- 
 nified and splendid in their thoughts. The reality 
 is quite different 
 
 A quite small room, panelled, badly lighted, 
 thronged with people this is the real theatre 
 
 127
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 where the dramas of society are played in London 
 town. . . . 
 
 "It is alleged," Mr. M' Arthur, Peggy's own coun- 
 sel, continued, "that, having reached Paris, you per- 
 mitted Mr. Collingwood to engage rooms con- 
 nected the one with the other." 
 
 "I did not know that Mr. Collingwood's room 
 opened out of mine," Mrs. Admaston said. "It 
 seems the hotel was full." 
 
 Everyone in the court one person only excepted 
 was looking at the slim young woman in the 
 witness-box. She was very simply dressed. Her 
 face was perfectly pale, but her self-possession was 
 marvellous. 
 
 From their seats behind the junior counsel, 
 Colonel Adams and Henry Passhe looked on with 
 sympathetic interest 
 
 Passhe who was somewhat of a psychologist 
 remarked upon the extreme simplicity of Mrs. Ad- 
 maston's dress to his friend. "I call it ostentatious," 
 he said, "or something of a trick. When a woman 
 has an income of eighty thousand pounds a year 
 quite apart from her husband, it seems to me ex- 
 aggerated humility to appear in the clothes that 
 any little milliner might wear." 
 
 Colonel Adams shrugged his shoulders. He 
 didn't in the least understand his friend's point of 
 view. . . . 
 
 128
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "After you went to bed" the handsome young- 
 elderly Mr. M'Arthur continued, "it is said that 
 you permitted Mr. Collingwood to enter your room 
 you being at the time undressed and to stay there 
 a considerable time." 
 
 Peggy's little white-gloved hands rested upon the 
 rail of the witness-box. 
 
 "I don't know about permitting," she said in a 
 clear voice. "He came in because he heard the tele- 
 phone. I think he thought that I had gone to bed, 
 and that the call might be from our friends." 
 
 "At anyrate, he came in, and you permitted him 
 to stay?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose I did. I asked him to go, but 
 we were great friends, and well I let him stay 
 and smoke a cigarette." 
 
 The court was dead silent now; the keen face of 
 the President regarded counsel and witness with an 
 intent scrutiny. 
 
 The society people who were there looked at 
 each other and held their breath. The junior coun- 
 sel leant forward from their benches, keenly atten- 
 tive to the efforts of the respondent's friend. 
 
 "It is alleged," Mr. M'Arthur continued, "that 
 while you were alone together you were unfaithful 
 to your husband." 
 
 "That is a lie." The voice was so poignant, so 
 ringing, so instinct with indignation, that even the 
 
 129
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 President looked up and watched the witness keenly. 
 Mr. M'Arthur nodded to himself as if very pleased 
 with the response he had elicited. He put his hands 
 together and made a motion as though he was 
 congratulating himself. 
 
 When he looked up again his face was perfectly 
 bright and cheerful. 
 
 "I will put this generally," he said. "Have you 
 ever, Mrs. Admaston ever, on any occasion or in 
 any place been unfaithful to your husband?" 
 
 "Never never never !" Peggy replied. . . . 
 
 She seemed no more the young and frivolous per- 
 son she had been. Tense and strung up, her per- 
 sonality had become arresting and real her voice 
 seemed to carry conviction. 
 
 Mr. M'Arthur looked round the court with a 
 half glance at the President and sat down. 
 
 As a matter of fact, he had the very gravest doubt 
 as to the possible success of his case. That sleuth- 
 hound, Sir Robert Fyffe, was against him, and the 
 case itself was a thoroughly weak one. He, ac- 
 complished barrister, actor, and man of the world 
 as he was, sat down with a quietly suggested air of 
 triumph that impressed every one. 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe rose. 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe was the absolute leader in his 
 own particular line. There was something so red- 
 faced and jolly about him such a suggestion of 
 
 130
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 friendliness even when he was most deadly, that 
 the eminence he enjoyed was very well deserved. 
 His voice was mellow; indeed, it was more than 
 that, and had a suggestion of treacle. 
 
 He looked at Mrs. Admaston with a bland smile. 
 
 "You will, I am sure, admit, Mrs. Admaston, 
 that the events of the 23rd March give ground for 
 very grave suspicion." 
 
 Peggy Admaston did not seem at all distressed 
 by this question. Her voice showed the pain that 
 she was enduring, but all her answers to counsel 
 were delivered clearly and openly. They had either 
 a frank innocence about them, or else she was cer- 
 tainly one of the most accomplished actresses and 
 liars of her time. 
 
 "Some persons are more suspicious than others," 
 Peggy answered. 
 
 "And one would be more justly suspicious of 
 some persons than of others?" 
 
 "Yes, perhaps so." 
 
 "And may I take it that you class yourself among 
 those persons upon whom suspicion should not 
 readily fall?" 
 
 Peggy nodded vigorously. "I think so," she said. 
 
 The great, round, red face of Sir Robert beamed 
 upon her in the kindliest way. His voice which 
 carried right through the court was still ingratiat- 
 ing and honey-s^veet.
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "You say/' he said, "that your husband ought not 
 to have allowed even these circumstances to make 
 him suspect you?" 
 
 "He had always trusted me implicitly," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 The accomplished counsel made a remark sotto 
 voce. "Perhaps too implicitly," he said. 
 
 Mr. M'Arthur jumped up in a second and looked 
 at the judge. 
 
 "My learned friend has no right to say that," he 
 said. 
 
 The President, with his air of taking very little 
 interest at all in the proceedings, raised his eyelids. 
 
 "I did not hear what he said," he remarked 
 blandly. 
 
 "Never mind, Mr. M'Arthur; / don't mind Sir 
 Robert," Peggy said from the witness-box very 
 sweetly. 
 
 "I am sure we shall get on very well," Sir Robert 
 replied. "Now, Mrs. Admaston, I suppose you 
 were very annoyed at finding you were in the wrong 
 train?" 
 
 "I was annoyed, I suppose," Peggy answered; 
 "but not very seriously. You see, it really didn't 
 matter very much." 
 
 Sir Robert nodded his great bewigged head. "I 
 suppose not," he said. "Was it your fault?" 
 
 The girl's clear accents rang out into the court.
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I don't think it was anybody's fault, except the 
 fussy customs officer's." 
 
 "This fussiness could have been avoided by regis- 
 tering the luggage through yes ?" 
 
 "I suppose so," Peggy answered Sir Robert. 
 
 The big man leant forward with the most ingrati- 
 ating face. "Can you," he asked, "suggest any rea- 
 son why the luggage was not registered?" 
 
 "I believe it was the mistake of a porter at Charing 
 Cross." 
 
 "The mistake of a porter, the fussiness of a 
 custom-house officer quite a chapter of accidents !" 
 Sir Robert continued blandly. 
 
 Mrs. Admaston seemed to find something con- 
 soling in the voice of the great K.C. 
 
 "Wasn't it !" she said brightly. 
 
 There was no response in the manner or in the 
 voice of Mr. Admaston's counsel. 
 
 "Was your luggage with Mr. Collingwood's at 
 Charing Cross?" he asked blandly still, but with 
 a threatening hint of what was to come in his voice. 
 
 "All the luggage was together when I saw it." 
 
 "All ? The luggage of the whole party ?" 
 
 "Yes," Peggy replied. 
 
 "Was it labelled, Mrs. Admaston? I mean, apart 
 from the railway labels?" 
 
 "Mine wasn't." 
 
 133
 
 "Don't you generally label your luggage when 
 you go abroad?" Sir Robert continued. 
 
 "I always do." 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Admaston, why did you not do so 
 this time?" 
 
 "Well, you see," Peggy answered, "Mr. Colling- 
 wood, who is a great traveller, chaffed me about 
 being such an old maid. He said it was quite un- 
 necessary." 
 
 The big moon-faced counsel almost jumped ex- 
 perienced as he was at this remark. 
 
 "Oh!" he said, "Mr. Collingwood said that, did 
 he?" 
 
 "It was lucky," Peggy replied; "wasn't it?" 
 
 Suddenly the President looked up. His kindly 
 but austere face became surprised. 
 
 "Lucky?" he said. 
 
 Peggy turned towards the judge. "Yes, my lord," 
 she said; "otherwise I should have reached Paris 
 without any clothes." 
 
 The President nodded gravely. "Yes, I see," he 
 said. "The boxes fortunately made the same mistake 
 as you did." 
 
 Peggy laughed. "Yes, Sir John," she said, and 
 as she did it there was a little ripple of amusement 
 round the crowded court. 
 
 Of course, everybody knew that the judge who 
 
 *34
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 was trying this case had met the Admastons over 
 and over again. 
 
 Every one there, with the exception of the people 
 in the gallery, was a member of what is called so- 
 ciety. Peggy, in her innocent simplicity, could not 
 quite differentiate between Sir John Burroughes, 
 who was trying the case of her innocence or guilt, 
 and Mr. M'Arthur or Sir Robert Fyffe, K.C, M.P. 
 She was bewildered. She had met all these men at 
 dinner-parties or receptions. She still thought that 
 this was all a kind of weird game. She did not 
 realise that Sir Robert Fyffe was about to hunt her 
 to the death of her reputation, or that Sir John Bur- 
 roughes the President would give his judgment 
 without fear or favour. 
 
 As a matter of fact, there was a little ripple of 
 laughter right through the court when she addressed 
 the President as "Sir John." 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe continued his examination. 
 "Very lucky, Mrs. Admaston," he said grimly. "And 
 did Mr. Collingwood's luggage make the same mis- 
 take as yours?" 
 
 "Yes," Peggy answered. 
 
 "And the luggage belonging to Lord Ellerdine 
 and Lady Attwill had the intelligence to go straight 
 to Chalons?" 
 
 "Yes," Peggy answered again. 
 
 135
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Didn't it strike you as rather odd that your lug- 
 gage should not have been registered?" 
 
 Peggy tried to recollect. "No, it didn't," she 
 said. "It struck my maid as odd, I remember." 
 
 A keen note came into Sir Robert Fyffe's voice. 
 The blandness and suavity seemed to have left it. 
 
 "It struck your maid as odd?" he said sharply. 
 
 "Maids who are devoted to us are often more 
 suspicious than we are," Peggy answered. "Don't 
 you think so, Sir Robert?" 
 
 The big red face turned full upon her for a mo- 
 ment. People who watched it carefully might have 
 discerned a slight expression of compunction. He 
 had known this little butterfly in private life, but now 
 professional considerations overbore everything. He 
 was Sir Robert Fyffe because he did his job had 
 always done his job. 
 
 "I am afraid I am not here to say what I think," 
 he answered quickly. 
 
 Peggy realised the situation in a moment. She 
 was fighting desperately, but nothing gave an index 
 to the fact. 
 
 "Oh, we all know that, Sir Robert !" she said, and 
 there was a slight murmur and ripple of laughter 
 through the court. 
 
 The President raised his eyes above his glasses 
 and stared gravely round. 
 
 Silence was restored. 
 
 136
 
 "Your maid's luggage," said Sir Robert, "had the 
 good fortune to reach Paris too ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did Mr. Collingwood attend to the luggage at 
 Charing Cross the luggage of the whole party, I 
 mean?" 
 
 "Yes, I think he did." 
 
 "Do you think, Mrs. Admaston, that you would 
 remember the porter who made the mistake?" 
 
 Peggy seemed to be trying to remember some- 
 thing. "No," she said doubtfully. "I don't think 
 I could." 
 
 "Do you remember having a conversation with 
 him?" Sir Robert continued, his face as bland and 
 confidential as any face could be. 
 
 "No, I don't remember." 
 
 "Your name was on your boxes in full, wasn't it ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Admaston, don't you remember 
 having a talk with him about your husband?" 
 
 Peggy looked up brightly. Something seemed to 
 have struck her. 
 
 "Oh yes," she said quickly. "Wasn't he a con- 
 stituent ?" 
 
 Sir Robert bowed sweetly. "I think he was," he 
 said. "At anyrate, a great admirer." Then he 
 turned round. "Will Mr. Stevens please stand up ?" 
 
 Just behind the barristers and the seats in which 
 137
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the society people were sitting, a broad, short, and 
 sturdy man rose from the pit of the court. 
 
 "Now," Sir Robert said to Mrs. Admaston, "do 
 you recognise him?" 
 
 Peggy leant over the rail of the box with real 
 interest if it was not affectation. 
 
 "No," she said doubtfully; "I could not say for 
 certain." 
 
 "But if Mr. Stevens can swear that he is the man 
 with whom you had the conversation?" 
 
 "Oh ! then he must be right, Sir Robert," Peggy 
 answered. 
 
 Mr. Menzies rose in his place. "My client, Mr. 
 Collingwood, recognises the man, m'lud there is 
 no doubt about it." 
 
 "Very well," the President answered quietly. "We 
 shall have that later." 
 
 "So that is the porter who made the mistake," 
 Sir Robert resumed in a voice full of meaning. 
 "You can sit down, Mr. Stevens. Would you be 
 surprised to hear that your luggage and Mr. Colling- 
 wood's was not registered, upon the express instruc- 
 tions of Mr. Collingwood, and that Lord Ellerdine's 
 and Lady Attwill's luggage was registered through, 
 also upon his instructions ?" 
 
 Mr. M'Arthur rose. "My lord," he said, "this 
 cannot be evidence against my client. Even if Mr. 
 
 138 '
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Collingwood was acting as her agent, such instruc- 
 tions were clearly outside his authority." 
 
 Sir Robert glanced round quickly. "One moment, 
 Mr. M'Arthur," he said, in a voice full of meaning. 
 "If it should turn out, Mrs. Admaston, that Mr. 
 Collingwood gave express instructions that your 
 luggage should not be registered that, you say, was 
 not according to your instructions ?" 
 
 "It is incredible that he should have given such 
 instructions," Peggy said. 
 
 "Incredible !" said Sir Robert Fyffe. 
 
 "Unless " Peggy replied, then stopped short 
 
 and bit her lip. 
 
 Every one in the court noticed that the judge 
 had lifted his head and was looking keenly at her. 
 
 "Well ? Unless what, Mrs. Admaston ?" Sir Rob- 
 ert Fyffe asked quickly. 
 
 Peggy did not answer at all. 
 
 "Shall I finish it for you?" Sir Robert continued, 
 with his famous little menacing gesture of the right 
 hand. "Unless he had intended to give his friends 
 the slip at Boulogne, and stay the night in Paris with 
 you. Is that what you were going to say ?" 
 
 "Yes, it was, for a moment," the girl answered, 
 "until it struck me how absurd it was." 
 
 "It strikes you as absurd, does it ?" 
 
 "Yes, it does rather," she replied. 
 
 "I suppose it would strike you as equally absurd 
 139
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 that Mr. Collingwood had already engaged rooms 
 at the Hotel des Tuileries for himself and a lady, 
 two days before you left London ? Or do you think 
 the rooms were engaged for some other lady?" 
 
 "I don't believe they were engaged at all before 
 we arrived," came the answer quickly. 
 
 Sir Robert nodded his big head. "We shall hear, 
 no doubt, from Mr. Collingwood. Am I to take it, 
 then, that you had no knowledge of the fact that 
 your luggage was not registered, and that you had 
 no knowledge of the fact that Mr. Collingwood 
 had already taken rooms for himself and a lady 
 before you left London?" 
 
 "I had no knowledge whatever none at all," 
 Peggy replied with great emphasis. 
 
 "And I think you told my learned friend in 
 examination-in-chief that you had no knowledge of 
 the fact that both your bedroom and Mr. Colling- 
 wood's opened out of the same sitting-room ?" 
 
 "That is so, Sir Robert." 
 
 "I think you telegraphed to Chalons when you 
 got to Paris to tell Lord Ellerdine of your mistake ?" 
 
 "Mr. Collingwood did so for me." 
 
 "And to your husband?" 
 
 "No; that was not necessary." 
 
 In some subtle, but very real fashion, the atmos- 
 phere of the court was becoming more and more 
 charged with excitement. Everybody was sitting 
 
 140
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 perfectly still. All eyes were directed to the slim 
 figure of the girl in the witness-box. The hush was 
 not broken by any sounds, save only that of the great 
 counsel's voice with its deadly innuendo, its remorse- 
 less logic of fact, and the replies of the sweet-voiced 
 girl. 
 
 "Why not?" Sir Robert asked, with a deep note 
 of suggestion. 
 
 "I did not want to worry him with our silly mis- 
 takes," was the answer; and even as she gave it 
 Peggy's heart sank like lead within her, realising 
 how inadequate and feeble it sounded. 
 
 "Did you think that it would annoy your husband 
 to think that you and Mr. Collingwood were alone 
 in Paris?" 
 
 "Not a bit," she replied. 
 
 "Then why didn't you tell him ? You had nothing 
 to hide?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever." 
 
 There was a pause. Sir Robert's face still wore 
 an expectant look. He was obviously waiting for 
 a reply. 
 
 It came at length, and every person in the court 
 as they heard it smiled, frowned, or sighed accord- 
 ing to their several temperaments. 
 
 "I really don't know why I didn't tell him." 
 
 "Let me suggest a reason. You didn't tell be- 
 cause you didn't want him to know?" 
 
 141
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I don't think that is true," Peggy answered. 
 
 "Come, Mrs. Admaston; you heard the evidence 
 of the detective?" 
 
 "Yes, I did." 
 
 "He has told the jury that when the telephone 
 message came through from your husband you were 
 in the room; that you stayed by and heard the co- 
 respondent tell your husband that Lord Ellerdine 
 was staying at the hotel a deliberate lie; and that 
 you refused to speak to your husband. Is that true ?" 
 
 The answer, the miserable answer, came in the 
 faintest of voices from the box : 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And now there was every sign of what the news- 
 papers call a "sensation" in court. Colonel Adams 
 and Henry Passhe looked at each other significantly. 
 "That's done for her," Passhe whispered to his 
 friend. Ladies nudged each other. The reporters 
 wrote furiously. The judge leaned forward a little 
 more over his desk. 
 
 "Why did you connive at this lie?" 
 
 "I don't know. Really, I don't know." 
 
 "Why did you refuse to speak to your husband ?" 
 
 Peggy was silently gazing downwards. 
 
 "You have told us that it would not have annoyed 
 your husband to think that you and Mr. Collingwood 
 were alone in Paris." 
 
 142
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Why should it have annoyed him," Peggy an- 
 swered, "if it were an accident?" 
 
 "Exactly!" Sir Robert continued "if it were an 
 accident. I put it to you that the only fact which 
 made you afraid to speak to your husband was be- 
 cause you knew it was not an accident, and that he 
 had just cause for resentment" 
 
 "That is not true," Peggy said, with a little flicker 
 of the spirit she had shown at first. 
 
 "I don't wish to be unfair," said Sir Robert Fyffe 
 and no man at the Bar was fairer than the famous 
 counsel in his cross-examinations. 
 
 "You are not unfair, Sir Robert," Peggy said; 
 "but, oh! it is all unfair." 
 
 Sir Robert gave a little sigh, which may or may 
 not have been a genuine expression of feeling, but 
 was probably sincere enough. His duty lay before 
 him, however, and, like some sworn torturer of the 
 Middle Ages, he must pursue it to the end. 
 
 "I must press you upon this point," he said. 
 "What made you afraid to tell your husband that 
 you were alone in Paris? What made you agree 
 with Mr. Collingwood, Lord Ellerdine, and Lady 
 Attwill to say that you had not been alone with Mr. 
 Collingwood in Paris?" 
 
 "I cannot tell you," Peggy answered. "I was very 
 upset, and really not quite myself." 
 
 "Not quite yourself?" followed upon the heels of 
 143
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 her answer with lightning rapidity. "Very upset? 
 What had happened to upset you?" 
 
 Peggy made a motion an instinctive motion 
 as if to free herself from something, something that 
 was slowly but surely tightening round her. Every 
 one noticed it, every one understood it. 
 
 "Nothing," she said at length. 
 
 At this there was a ripple of laughter through 
 the court, and cutting in upon it, before it had quite 
 died away, the accusing voice was heard : "Nothing? 
 If that is so, can you give any reason why Lord 
 Ellerdine and Lady Attwill should have connived at 
 this deception?" 
 
 "I suppose they thought they were shielding me." 
 
 "Shielding you!" Sir Robert cried in mock sur- 
 prise. "From what ? Tell me, Mrs. Admaston," he 
 continued, as Peggy looked round the court help- 
 lessly "tell me, do you think that Lord Ellerdine 
 he is an old friend?" 
 
 "Yes, a dear old friend," Peggy said, glad to be 
 able to say something for a moment which did not 
 tell against her. 
 
 "Do you think that Lord Ellerdine and Lady Att- 
 will believed that you were in Paris, by accident?" 
 
 "How can I tell ?" Peggy replied, not in the least 
 seeing to what this was leading. 
 
 "Have you any doubt? Why do you think that 
 Lord Ellerdine returned to Paris by the night train 
 
 144
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 instead of letting you join them at Chalons, except 
 that he thought something was very seriously 
 wrong?" 
 
 "I have told you/' Peggy replied, "that he thought 
 he was shielding me." 
 
 "But you have not told me from what he thought 
 he was shielding you. What was he to shield you 
 from?" 
 
 "Nothing," Peggy said once more. And again 
 there was a ripple of laughter throughout the court. 
 
 At this Sir Robert Fyffe allowed himself his first 
 look at the jury, and a most significant one it was. 
 Then he turned quickly to the witness-box. "Noth- 
 ing!" he cried. "Then why did you invent or 
 connive at the invention of this story?" 
 
 "Why did I?" the girl said helplessly. "I don't 
 /enow. I thought it foolish. I saw that they had 
 told a lying story to my husband, thinking to serve 
 me, and I didn't want to give them away." 
 
 "You lied to your husband because you didn't 
 wish to give your good-natured friends away. Is 
 that really your reason, Mrs. Admaston?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "and I loathed myself for 
 it." 
 
 "It was perhaps the first time that you had de- 
 ceived your husband?" Sir Robert said blandly. 
 
 "Yes," came the answer with a pause, and very 
 faintly given.
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "You arrived at the hotel under the impression 
 that your presence in Paris was due to a mistake?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You supped in your room with Mr. Colling- 
 wood ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And what time did you sup?" 
 
 "About 10 or 10.15." 
 
 "What did you do after supper? I suppose you 
 finished about 1 1 ?" 
 
 "I suppose so," Peggy replied. 
 
 "Well what did you do? The table, I think, 
 was not cleared before you retired to bed that is 
 so, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How did you spend the time between n and 
 12.30?" 
 
 "We were talking." 
 
 "No doubt you told the waiter not to clear away 
 so that you should not be disturbed?" 
 
 "I really forget," Peggy said. 
 
 "At anyrate, you were not disturbed?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And spent a charming evening?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Unspoilt by any idea that your presence there 
 was due to a deliberate and successful device to give 
 your companions the slip?" 
 
 146
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Helpless as she was in those skilled, remorseless 
 hands, Peggy nevertheless flared up at this. 
 
 "To have had such an idea," she said, with a dig- 
 nity which was strangely piteous under the circum- 
 stances, "would have been an insult to Mr. Colling- 
 wood." 
 
 "Always assuming," said Sir Robert, "that Mr. 
 Collingwood made his plans without your knowl- 
 edge." 
 
 "I don't believe that Mr. Collingwood made the 
 plans you suggest." 
 
 "And nothing will shake your faith in Mr. Col- 
 lingwood?" said Sir Robert with great suavity. 
 
 "My faith in him is not likely to be shaken by 
 the hired evidence of detectives, railway porters, or 
 hotel servants." 
 
 "You mustn't talk like that, Mrs. Admaston," the 
 judge said gravely. 
 
 "When did it first seem to you that your presence 
 in Paris was not due to a mistake?" Sir Robert 
 went on. 
 
 "My maid hinted it to me while she was doing 
 my hair before I went to bed." 
 
 "Your maid is an old and privileged servant ?" 
 
 "She is far more than a servant. She is a devoted 
 friend." 
 
 "You are sure of that ?" 
 
 "Absolutely."
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Sir Robert nodded to himself, and his nod sent 
 a shiver of apprehension through the girl in the 
 witness-box. 
 
 "The subject admits of no discussion?" he asked, 
 and there was a suppressed eagerness in his voice. 
 
 "None," Peggy answered. 
 
 Sir Robert nodded again. "Very well," he said 
 sotto voce. "You have told me that you were an- 
 noyed, but not seriously, at missing the train, and I 
 suppose, Mrs. Admaston, I may add at finding your- 
 self in Paris?" 
 
 The examination seemed to have fallen a little 
 from its strained note. 
 
 "That is so," Peggy replied, slightly relieved. 
 
 "Did Mr. Collingwood seem much distressed at 
 the turn of events ?" asked Sir Robert. 
 
 And then it might have been rising hysteria, or 
 it might have been a totally innocent misapprehen- 
 sion of what was going on, but Peggy laughed. 
 
 Her laugh went rippling out into the court. 
 
 "He did not seem inconsolable," she said. 
 
 Her laughter was echoed by that of every one in 
 the court; even Sir Robert's red and genial face 
 relaxed into a smile. 
 
 "And I daresay," he said in quite a kindly voice, 
 "I daresay you would as soon be stranded in 
 Paris with Mr. Collingwood as with any one?" 
 
 148
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Oh, much sooner," Peggy said. "He is a very 
 charming companion." 
 
 "Perhaps," Sir Robert Fyffe answered, "I may 
 allow myself to say the same of his companion?" 
 
 Peggy smiled brightly. "Well," she said, "it would 
 not be the first time you had said so, Sir Robert" 
 
 "Nor will it be the last, Mrs. Admaston," the 
 K.C. replied with a courtly bow, and a really charm- 
 ing smile upon his face. 
 
 Then suddenly he stood a little more upright, 
 shifted the gown upon his shoulders, touched his 
 wig, and looked at Peggy keenly. He was once 
 more the keen advocate doing his duty, whatever 
 it might cost him in personal emotion. 
 
 "But we must pass on," he said. "Very well. 
 You finished supper at last, and about 12.30 you 
 went to bed. Your maid joined you and you got 
 undressed." Here Sir Robert put his pince-nez upon 
 his nose, and leant over to see the ground-plan of 
 the rooms of the Hotel des Tuileries, which the so- 
 licitor on the bench before him held up for his in- 
 spection. 
 
 Sir Robert looked at the coloured plan for a 
 moment with intense scrutiny. Then, having re- 
 freshed his memory, he turned his face once more 
 to the witness-box. 
 
 "Mr. Collingwood," he continued, "had left you 
 by the door leading into the passage, I suppose?" 
 
 149
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Yes," Peggy replied. 
 
 "You had no idea that he was occupying the 
 room communicating with yours?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 "You then sent your maid to bed?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And it was shortly after that that the telephone 
 bell rang the call from Chalons?" 
 
 "Very shortly after," Peggy replied. 
 
 She seemed to be extremely interested in this 
 conversation between herself and Sir Robert Fyffe 
 interested in it as if she were playing some game 
 of which the issue would not matter. At this period 
 of the famous cross-examination she seemed to be 
 perfectly bright and unconcerned. 
 
 "And you went to answer it?" Sir Robert went 
 on. 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 Sir Robert clutched the bands of his gown and 
 looked at her with the very keenest scrutiny. 
 
 "And will you tell my lord and the jury what 
 happened?" he said. 
 
 "While I was speaking I had my back to the 
 door I suddenly heard Mr. Collingwood's voice 
 behind me." 
 
 Sir Robert started. "You were surprised 
 startled?" he said in an eager voice. 
 
 "I was," Peggy answered "very."
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The K.C.'s head was bent forward and was sway- 
 ing slightly from side to side, as the head of a snake 
 sways before it strikes. He was quite unconscious 
 of the marked hostility of his attitude, but the game, 
 the big, exciting game which he was playing, which 
 he was paid so highly to play, and which had become 
 the chief excitement of his life, had caught hold of 
 him in all his nerves. 
 
 "Had he knocked?" he said. 
 
 "I didn't hear him," Peggy replied, "or of course 
 I should not have let him come in." 
 
 "I see," Sir Robert replied. "You were hardly 
 dressed to receive gentlemen visitors?" 
 
 "Well, hardly." 
 
 "You were angry, Mrs. Admaston?" 
 
 "I zvas angry," Peggy replied. 
 
 "Now ! how did you show your anger ?" 
 
 "By telling him to go back to his room." 
 
 "Did he go?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 And now laughter, loud and almost inextinguish- 
 able, filled the court. Every one was enjoying him- 
 self or herself enormously. There was a sort of 
 atmosphere of French farce about the sombre court. 
 Every one had, by now, forgotten that they had 
 lunched and dined at the hospitable tables of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Admaston. They were there for a show
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 they were out for blood it was a bull-fight to these 
 pleasant ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 Mr. Henry Passhe was obviously enjoying him- 
 self. He laughed as loudly as any one, until the 
 warning "Hush !" of the usher suppressed the merri- 
 ment. He looked towards his friend, but he saw 
 that Colonel Adams's lean brown face was drawn 
 and wrinkled up with pain. Then he himself for 
 he was a decent-minded man enough felt a lictle 
 ashamed of his jocularity, and he turned once more 
 to an intent watching of this tragic spectacle. 
 
 "No doubt," Sir Robert said, "that made you 
 more angry yes?" 
 
 Mrs. Admaston did not answer, but Sir Robert 
 persisted. 
 
 "Didn't it make you more angry?" he said. 
 
 Suddenly Peggy looked up, and her voice rippled 
 with laughter she was a butterfly, a thing of sun- 
 shine and shadow, but shadow never distressed her 
 for very long. 
 
 "I never remain angry very long," she said. 
 
 Sir Robert took no notice of the way in which 
 she answered. His big voice went on, tolling quietly 
 like a distant bell. 
 
 "But you were angry?" 
 
 "I wanted him to go," Peggy replied impatiently. 
 
 "Quite so," said Sir Robert. "But you allowed 
 him to stay?" 
 
 152
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 She heard once more that inexorable persistence, 
 that bland, passionless, but remorseless voice. 
 
 The little flicker of gaiety and of respite was over. 
 She braced herself once more to stand up against 
 this relentless onslaught, and clutched the rail of 
 the witness-box before her. 
 
 "We are very old friends, Sir Robert," she an- 
 swered. "I saw no particular harm in it." 
 
 "If you saw no particular harm in it, why did 
 you not care to speak to your husband when he 
 rang up?" 
 
 "One may do perfectly harmless things," she re- 
 plied, "and yet not care to tell every one about them." 
 
 "And this was one of those perfectly harmless 
 things which you didn't care to tell every one, or 
 even your husband, about?" 
 
 "There was no harm in it," Peggy replied, and 
 her voice rang out with a dreadful sense of sup- 
 pressed irritation and pain. 
 
 "So little that you permitted Mr. Collingwood to 
 stay with you for quite a long time?" 
 
 "Not very long," she answered. 
 
 "Until the telephone call from your husband?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe began to seem very pleased with 
 himself. There was no bitterness in his voice 
 only an extreme politeness. But by now he kept 
 glancing carefully at the jury, watching them with 
 
 153
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 lightning glances, and gathering all the information 
 he possibly could from the expressions on their faces 
 their immobility or movements of interest. 
 
 "Up to that time," Sir Robert remarked and his 
 question had really the note of a casual inquiry 
 "up to that time had he shown any sign of going?" 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 The next query startled the whole court, not so 
 much from its directness though that was patent 
 enough, but by reason of the way in which it was 
 rapped out. 
 
 It was said in a hard, threatening, staccato voice : 
 "What were you both doing?" 
 
 The answer was rather reflective than otherwise. 
 It showed no apprehension of the intention of the 
 examiner. 
 
 "Sitting on the sofa he was smoking, I think," 
 Peggy said. 
 
 "Should I be right in saying that during most 
 of this time he was making passionate love to you ?" 
 
 All the reporters looked up, their pencils poised, 
 their eyes avid of sensation. 
 
 "He was very fond of me," Mrs. Admaston re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Passionately in love with you?" 
 
 There was a perceptible hesitation. "I think he 
 was very fond of me." 
 
 Sir Robert's words came from him like the blows 
 154
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 of a hammer upon a nail: "Have you any doubt 
 that he was passionately in love with you?" 
 
 "He told me so." 
 
 "I put it to you that you knew it, and had known 
 it for months?" 
 
 It was an odd contrast between the triumphant 
 note which had crept into the great barrister's voice 
 and the diminuendo of Peggy's. 
 
 There was no gaiety now. The forces were joined. 
 The battle, which had been an affair of skirmishes 
 before, was now in full cry. 
 
 "I only knew what he told me." The voice was 
 quite desperate now. 
 
 "And when did he first tell you? The night you 
 were in Paris ? Is that when you say ?" 
 
 "Yes," the answer came, and the President leant 
 forward to be sure that he heard the admission 
 aright. 
 
 The big, round, red face of Sir Robert Fyffe was 
 now redder than ever. His eyes blinked as if the 
 lids could hardly veil the silent fire which peered 
 out from them. 
 
 "Do you swear that? Please be careful." . . . 
 
 "I think that was the first time." 
 
 "I suggest to you," said Sir Robert, turning to- 
 wards the jury, the President, and then to Peggy 
 "I suggest to you, Mrs. Admaston, that he had been 
 making passionate love to you for months." 
 
 155
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 There was an intense silence in the court. 
 
 The members of the jury were obviously excited. 
 Different members showed it in different ways. 
 There were men who struggled to give no indication 
 of their feelings, and made effort at an entire lack 
 of expression. Others showed evident and lively 
 interest. 
 
 "I knew for some months that he was very fond 
 of me." 
 
 "And did your husband know?" echoed out into 
 the court. 
 
 "I suppose so," was the faint answer. 
 
 "Do you suggest that your husband would ever 
 have permitted you to go away, even in the company 
 of friends, with a man who had been abusing his 
 friendship by making passionate love to his wife?" 
 
 There was no answer to that. No sound came 
 from the witness-box the whole court waited for 
 the response. 
 
 Sir Robert was leaning forward now, his head 
 shaking from side to side, his blood-hound face, his 
 extremely vivid eyes, fixed upon Peggy's face. "Do 
 you really ask the jury to believe that?" he said. 
 
 Still Peggy was silent. She seemed to have 
 drooped into something like a faded flower. She 
 said nothing. There was nothing for her to say. 
 
 And in the silence the calm, judicial voice of the 
 President, full of commiseration without prejudice 
 
 156
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 one way or the other, nevertheless, made its de- 
 mand. "You must answer, Mrs. Admaston," said 
 the judge. 
 
 "I don't think my husband knew Iww fond of me 
 he was," Peggy said. 
 
 "If he had known," Sir Robert said, very gently 
 now, and with a little quiver in his voice "if he 
 had known, don't you think, Mrs. Admaston, he 
 would have been very angry to know how you were 
 situated in Paris?" 
 
 Sentence after sentence was wrung from her by 
 torture. 
 
 "I think perhaps he might not have liked it," she 
 said in a fainting voice. 
 
 The bully came out in Sir Robert's voice. All 
 along the line he was being tremendously success- 
 ful. . . . 
 
 "Perhaps! Would any man like it? Do you 
 think, madam, that you were treating your husband 
 fairly in encouraging this very charming gentleman's 
 attentions?" 
 
 Very faint, very slow, very hesitating, and ex- 
 tremely weary, "I did not encourage them," the 
 answer came. 
 
 "We shall see. Didn't it make you feel very 
 embarrassed to find yourself sitting up in a strange 
 hotel into the small hours of the morning, with this 
 man making passionate love to you?" 
 
 157
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 There was a dead silence in the court. Once 
 more the person on the rack had nothing to say. 
 
 "Or had this liaison gone too far by this time for 
 you to feel embarrassed ?" 
 
 Mr. M'Arthur jumped up. 
 
 His face blazed with simulated fury. "My lord," 
 he barked, "I protest against these insulting sug- 
 gestions." 
 
 The excited voice of the counsel rather failed of 
 its effect as the judge looked down upon him. "Sir 
 Robert is within his rights, Mr. M'Arthur," he said. 
 "He would not ask these questions without good 
 reason." 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe saw his chance at once. He 
 glanced at the jury; he made a little deprecating 
 motion of his head to the President. "Too good 
 reason, my lord! My duty is not a pleasant one. 
 . . . Was this the first time, Mrs. Admaston, that 
 you had received Mr. Collingwood in this state of 
 undress when the rest of the household was 
 asleep?" 
 
 Peggy had clasped her hands. She threw them 
 apart with a wild gesture and clutched the rail of 
 the witness-box. "My lord!" she said, "I assure 
 you that nothing has ever t#ken place between us." 
 
 The President gazed at her with calm compassion. 
 
 He had heard appeals like this one too often. He 
 158
 
 was not there to be influenced by emotions, or to be 
 prejudiced by his natural kindness of heart. 
 
 He was there to judge. 
 
 "You must answer Sir Robert, Mrs. Admaston," 
 he said quietly. 
 
 "We used to sit up late sometimes at Lord Eller- 
 dine's and talk," Peggy admitted. 
 
 There were murmurs all over the court. Society 
 was interested. 
 
 Sir Robert Fyffe leant forward to the solicitor in 
 front of him, said something in an undertone, and 
 then looked up. 
 
 "Was that at Lord Ellerdine's place in York- 
 shire?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "When were you last there?" 
 
 "About a year ago," Peggy replied. 
 
 "Indeed ! About a year ago " 
 
 "Hardly a year." 
 
 "At anyrate, several months before the Paris trip 
 Mr. Collingwood was sitting up in your room into 
 the small hours of the morning making passionate 
 love to you?" 
 
 Mrs. Admaston said nothing at all. 
 
 "Is not that so?" the insistent voice inquired. 
 
 "There was no harm, Sir Robert," was the hesi- 
 tating answer. 
 
 "No harm ! Did Lord Ellerdine know ?" 
 159
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Did your husband know?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 And now into the voice of the great counsel be- 
 gan to creep a note of contempt, which was doubt- 
 less perfectly genuine. He had met the woman he 
 was cross-examining in society. He had liked her. 
 But, as every one knew, Sir Robert's own domestic 
 life was one of singular happiness and accord. 
 
 It is pretty certain that having known Admas- 
 ton and his wife he was becoming genuinely in- 
 dignant at what he thought the treachery of the girl. 
 
 "Was this another of those perfectly harmless 
 things which you didn't care to tell your husband 
 about ?" he said. 
 
 "I saw no harm in it," Peggy replied, and in 
 answer to the colder note in Sir Robert's voice her 
 own became stubborn. 
 
 "But you would not have liked him to know? 
 Well! You have now admitted that Mr. Colling- 
 wood had been making passionate love to you for 
 months before the trip to Paris. We are getting at 
 the truth gradually. I suppose that he made these 
 declarations of love several times at Lord Eller- 
 dine's?" 
 
 "I think he spoke to me on two or three occa- 
 sions," Peggy almost murmured. 
 
 1 60
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And was this really the first time he declared 
 his love for you?" 
 
 "Yes, the first time." 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 "Quite sure." 
 
 "And you still went about everywhere with him 
 but you were careful not to tell your husband the 
 truth?" 
 
 "My husband trusted me. I never abused his 
 trust." 
 
 As Peggy said this, the foreman of the jury, a 
 plump, shortish, clean-shaved gentleman who in 
 private life was a chemist, looked up with a puzzled 
 expression upon his face. 
 
 He thought he detected a ring of real sincerity 
 in the witness's voice which the facts did not seem 
 to justify. 
 
 "Was not this an abuse of his trust?" Sir Robert 
 said perhaps more gravely than he had spoken yet. 
 
 "Oh! we can't all be perfect! I don't deny that 
 I flirted," Peggy answered. 
 
 Her affectation of lightness went very ill with the 
 weighty, measured accusations of Sir Robert Fyffe. 
 
 It struck a jarring note in the court. It did her 
 harm. 
 
 "You do not deny that you flirted," Sir Robert 
 said, with a little nod of his head "and encouraged 
 
 161
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 this man, this very charming companion, to flirt with 
 you?" 
 
 "And if I did," she replied, still defiant, "my hus- 
 band trusted me, and knew that there was nothing 
 in it" 
 
 "Mrs. Admaston, if that is true, why were you 
 afraid to talk to him upon the night of the 23rd 
 March, and why did you connive at a deliberate lie 
 on the following day?" 
 
 There was a cold and deliberate disgust in Sir 
 Robert's voice, and almost every person there gave 
 a little sympathetic shudder. 
 
 But Peggy, brave to the last, still fought on. "I 
 was a fool," she said, with a little shrug of the shoul- 
 ders, as if the question was of no great moment. 
 "I was a fool. The others thought the thing much 
 worse than it was, and that frightened me. I have 
 told you already that I loathed myself for lying as 
 I did." 
 
 Sir Robert knitted his brows for a moment, and 
 then decided on his course of action. 
 
 That brilliant brain was never at a loss. Again, 
 after a second's hesitation, the deadly thrust was 
 delivered. It was delivered with such apparent 
 suavity and innocence, with such a relaxation of the 
 hard, accusing note, that the girl in the witness- 
 box was utterly deceived. 
 
 ''You mean," said Sir Robert, "that though yoy 
 162
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 did not tell your husband everything about your 
 harmless flirtations your peccadilloes you never 
 before deliberately lied to shield yourself ?" 
 
 "Yes," Peggy replied eagerly; "that is what I 
 mean." 
 
 "Does it not strike you, Mrs. Admaston, that 
 any one who knew of your previous adventures with 
 Mr. Collingwood, the pleasure you obviously find in 
 his society, and the methods you have adopted to 
 blind your husband to the progress of this innocent 
 friendship, would have good ground for supposing 
 that the accident which brought about the last of this 
 series of innocent and pleasant reunions was in 
 reality not accident, but deliberate design ?" 
 
 "I see what you mean," she answered ; "but what- 
 ever any one thought, it iu as an accident !" 
 
 "An accident! Oh, just consider this chapter of 
 accidents! By accident, you and Mr. Collingwood 
 got on to the wrong train at Boulogne ; by accident, 
 although the luggage of the whole party was to- 
 gether at Charing Cross Station and Mr. Colling- 
 wood was instructed to register it all through to 
 St. Moritz, your luggage and Mr. Collingwood's 
 was not registered an accident which enabled you 
 to take it on with you upon the Paris train, which 
 you only entered by accident. By accident, Mr. Col- 
 lingwood seems to have taken for himself and a 
 lady roorns at a,n hotel in Paris which, but for the 
 
 163
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 accident which took you and him to Paris, could 
 have been of no possible use to him. Do you still 
 ask the jury to believe that your visit to Paris was 
 an accident?" 
 
 Sir Robert had a little over-emphasised himself 
 that is, as far as the witness was concerned, 
 though his accentuated speech had its effect upon the 
 jury. Peggy herself recognised artifice. When 
 there had been a real note of sincerity in the counsel's 
 voice it had frightened her far more than any rhet- 
 oric could. 
 
 "Certainly I do," she answered with spirit. 
 
 The barrister recognised in a moment that, while 
 he had made an effect upon the court, he had at the 
 same time given new courage to the witness. He 
 was, as all great counsel are, a psychologist of the 
 first order. He responded instantly, and in this duel 
 of two minds his and Mrs. Admaston's his keener 
 and more trained intelligence realised exactly what 
 was passing in her thoughts. 
 
 "I suggest to you, Mrs. Admaston," he said very 
 briskly, "that you and Mr. Collingwood had planned 
 this trip to Paris that he took the rooms with your 
 knowledge that you both missed the train deliber- 
 ately, and reached Paris in accordance with your 
 preconceived design?" 
 
 "And I tell you," Peggy replied, "that all these 
 suggestions are absolutely false." 
 
 164
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Absolutely falser 
 
 Her voice rang out into the court shrill with the 
 long torture of her examination, but passionate 
 with her own certainty of her innocence. "There's 
 not a rag of truth in any of them. You may think 
 you can make black white, and white black, you 
 may hire spies, tamper with railway servants and 
 waiters ..." 
 
 An instant reproof came from the jadge two 
 words: "Mrs. Admaston!" he said. 
 
 She looked up, but hardly heard him. 
 
 ". . . And do all the rest of the degrading work 
 which seems inseparable from this court." 
 
 "Mrs. Admaston," the President said again, "you 
 must not speak like that." 
 
 All men, even judges, are influenced by circum- 
 stance. It is probable that the President would have 
 been far more severe at such an outburst as this, if 
 Mrs. Admaston had not been a millionairess in 
 her own right and the wife of a prominent Cabinet 
 Minister. And it is sure also that, under such cir- 
 cumstances as these, an ordinary woman, without 
 the unconscious consciousness of her financial and 
 social position, would not have dared to do as Peggy 
 did. 
 
 Despite the President's admonition, a torrent of 
 half hysterical, wholly indignant words poured from 
 the witness-box. 
 
 165
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "And what right have they to treat me like this ?" 
 Peggy cried. "Am I to be treated as guilty, merely 
 because I have foolishly courted temptation ? I don't 
 know what I have said, I don't know what I shall 
 say before this torture is completed; but I am sen- 
 sible enough to know that I have no chance in all 
 this farrago of horrible insinuation which twists 
 every little piece of harmless and girlish folly into 
 some vicious and debasing form. I cannot keep quiet 
 under it I tell you it is all all lies nothing but 
 lies!" 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Admaston," Sir Robert said, ap- 
 parently unmoved by this tirade, "I must ask you 
 to give me your very close attention." 
 
 "You must try to be more composed," the Presi- 
 dent said kindly to Peggy, "if you wish to do your- 
 self justice." 
 
 Peggy's white, set face looked straight out before 
 her. She summoned up all her courage to bear the 
 remainder of her torture. 
 
 "You still persist," said Sir Robert, "in saying 
 that your trip to Paris resulted from an accident?" 
 
 "Emphatically I do," she answered. 
 
 Sir Robert looked towards the judge. 
 
 "Has your lordship got that document," he said, 
 "which Mr. Admaston identified when he was in the 
 witness-box ?" 
 
 The President nodded. "That was the anony- 
 166
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 mous letter received by Miss Admaston Mr. Ad- 
 maston's aunt, was it not, and produced by her on 
 subpoena yesterday? Yes. I have it here in the 
 envelope." 
 
 "Perhaps your lordship will allow the witness to 
 look at the envelope." 
 
 Mr. M' Arthur jumped up. "My lord," he said, 
 "1 submit again that nothing can make this letter 
 evidence." 
 
 "And you are quite right, Mr. M'Arthur," the 
 judge answered. "But at present Sir Robert is 
 not suggesting that it is evidence Usher," he con- 
 tinued, "please hand this to the witness." 
 
 "Look at that envelope," Sir Robert continued. 
 "You will see that it is dated March 23rd, and the 
 postmark shows that it was collected at 10.30 a.m. 
 Now, you persist in saying that at the time that 
 letter was posted nothing was further from your 
 mind than that you would be staying the night in 
 Paris." 
 
 "I have already said so/' Peggy answered. 
 
 "And do you say so still?" 
 
 "Of course I do," she answered tartly. 
 
 "We shall see," Sir Robert Fyffe rapped out. 
 "The letter is addressed to Miss Admaston is it 
 not? And Mr. Admaston has sworn that she brought 
 it to him to the House of Commons just after three 
 
 167
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 o'clock on the same day. Is Miss Admaston a friend 
 of yours ?" 
 
 "I don't think she altogether approves of me," 
 Peggy answered. 
 
 "You know that Mr. Admaston has sworn that it 
 was the information contained in that letter which 
 determined him to have you watched in Boulogne 
 and in Paris?" 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "And at the time that letter was written, no one 
 could possibly have known that you were going to 
 spend the night in Paris or miss the train at 
 Boulogne?" 
 
 "Of course they couldn't." 
 
 "May I take it, therefore," Sir Robert continued, 
 "that you believed your husband when he says that 
 that letter was in his hands soon after three o'clock 
 long before you even reach Folkestone ?" 
 
 "I believe my husband implicitly," Peggy said, 
 and there was a little quaver in her voice. 
 
 "Do you recognise the handwriting?" Sir Robert 
 asked. 
 
 "I have never seen it before," she answered. 
 
 The judge looked intently at the K.C. "I don't 
 want to interrupt you, Sir Robert," he said; "but 
 do you know whose handwriting it is?" 
 
 "No, my lord," Sir Robert replied. "I am really 
 asking for information." 
 
 1 68
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "It is very curious," said the judge. 
 
 "It is, my lord," said Sir Robert. "My learned 
 friend, Mr. Carteret, who is watching the case on 
 behalf of Miss Admaston, informs me that he has 
 had it submitted to every well-known handwriting 
 expert in the United Kingdom, and indeed in 
 Europe." 
 
 "And compared with the writing of every person 
 however remotely connected with the parties con- 
 cerned in this case?" 
 
 "He has even had it compared with Mrs. Ad- 
 maston's, my lord." 
 
 "And no doubt with Mr. Collingwood's ?" the 
 judge continued. 
 
 "Yes," Sir Robert said, "and with Mr. Colling- 
 wood's too, my lord though, I regret to say, with 
 no result." 
 
 He turned from the judge to Peggy. "And can't 
 you help us, Mrs. Admaston?" he concluded. 
 
 "No, not from the envelope," Peggy answered. 
 
 "It is a most peculiar handwriting," the judge 
 observed, leaning back in his seat. 
 
 Sir Robert continued his cross-examination. 
 "Now, Mrs. Admaston," he said, "remember that 
 that letter was in the hands of your husband just 
 after three o'clock on 23rd March. Now, will you 
 be so good as to read it?" 
 
 "Out loud?" 
 
 169
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Oh no. Read it to yourself." 
 
 There was dead silence in the court as with 
 trembling hands the girl took the letter from the 
 envelope and began to read it. All the spectators, 
 those engaged in the case, and several members of 
 the jury knew that the dramatic moment of all had 
 arrived. There had been many dramatic moments, 
 but this was to be the culminating one. 
 
 The excitement was intense, and, when Peggy 
 suddenly gave a little cry, there was a low murmur 
 of sound. She cried out loudly, sharply, as if in 
 pain, while the judge and jury regarded her intently. 
 Then she bent forward over the letter again and 
 appeared to re-read it. 
 
 Suddenly she lifted her head and turned desper- 
 ately to the President. "Oh! my lord, this is in- 
 famous!" she cried. 
 
 Without any hesitation at all Sir Robert made 
 his point. 
 
 "Do you still persist, Mrs. Admaston, in your 
 statement that your trip to Paris was the result of 
 an accident?" 
 
 Peggy was desperate. "My lord this letter it 
 is a trap it must be a trap " she wailed. 
 
 "Come, Mrs. Admaston," Sir Robert said very 
 sternly; "can you still keep up this farce, this hypo- 
 critical farce?" 
 
 Suddenly Collingwood jumped up from his place. 
 170
 
 "My lord, I protest!" he said, in a voice which 
 trembled with indignation. 
 
 The judge gave him a keen look as he subsided, 
 muttering to himself. 
 
 "You will have an opportunity to-morrow," the 
 judge said, "of showing your sympathy." 
 
 "Now, madam, having read that letter " Sir 
 
 Robert resumed. 
 
 The foreman of the jury rose. "My lord," he 
 said, "the jury would like to see that letter." 
 
 "What do you say, Mr. M'Arthur and Mr. Men- 
 zies ?" asked the judge. 
 
 "I can see no purpose in keeping it out any 
 longer, my lord," Mr. M'Arthur answered, while 
 Mr. Menzies said that any mischief which it might 
 do had been done already. 
 
 The President seemed to approve. "I think you 
 are right," he said. "Usher, give me the letter." 
 
 The letter was handed up again to the bench, and, 
 adjusting his pince-nez, the judge proceeded to 
 read it. 
 
 "Listen, gentlemen," he said, "and I will read it 
 to you. The importance of this letter, gentlemen, 
 which, as you have seen, has so terribly upset this 
 poor lady, is that it was clearly written before 
 10.30 on the morning of the 23rd March, and was 
 in the hands of Mr. Admaston long before Mrs. 
 JAdmaston and her friends reached Folkestone let 
 
 171
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 alone Boulogne. The letter is dated March 23rd, 
 and it is unsigned. Now, gentlemen, an anonymous 
 letter is open to grave suspicion, but in the peculiar 
 circumstances of this case the fact of its being anony- 
 mous makes no difference. If any one, other than 
 the respondent and co-respondent, knew that they 
 were going to stay in Paris on the night of the 23rd, 
 and knew that before they started, it is difficult to 
 exaggerate the importance of the fact. I will now 
 read the letter: 
 
 " 'Mrs. Admaston will be staying at Paris 
 to-night alone with Mr. Collingwood. They 
 have arranged to get separated from Lord 
 Ellerdine and Lady Attwill at Boulogne and 
 to stay the night together at the Hotel des 
 Tuileries. If Mr. Admaston does not believe 
 this, let him telephone the hotel to-night.' 
 
 Mr. Carteret," the judge concluded, "were any other 
 letters in this strange handwriting received by Miss 
 Admaston?" 
 
 "One other, my lord, three days ago," said Mr. 
 Carteret. 
 
 "I should like to see it," said the President. 
 
 The second letter was handed up to him, and 
 he read it through carefully. 
 
 "It is all very mysterious," he said, shaking his 
 172
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 head. "I think, gentlemen, that you had better 
 hear it. It is as follows : 
 
 " 'Please destroy the other letter and this, 
 and save an old servant who honours the family 
 from the anger of Mrs. Admaston.' " 
 
 The judge paused, carefully scrutinising the letter ; 
 then he took up an ivory reading-glass and looked at 
 the letter through the magnifying lens. 
 
 "Am I right, Mr. Carteret," he said, "in my view 
 that this letter has been blotted and not allowed to 
 dry?" 
 
 Mr. Carteret leant over and had a hurried con- 
 versation with his handwriting expert. "I am in- 
 structed that there is no doubt as to that, my lord," 
 he said, looking up. 
 
 "I should much like to see that blotting-paper," 
 the President remarked. 
 
 "Blotting-paper!" said Sir Robert Fyffe. "So 
 should we all, my lord." Then he rose to his feet. 
 "Now, Mrs. Admaston, having read this letter, do 
 you still dare to repeat that until you had the mis- 
 fortune to miss the train at Boulogne you had no 
 intention of spending the night in Paris with Mr. 
 Collingwood ?" 
 
 Peggy did not answer. 
 
 She stared at the letter upon the judge's desk as 
 if fascinated by it. 
 
 173
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "My lord and the jury are waiting for an answer," 
 Sir Robert repeated. "Come, madam." 
 
 "And what answer can I give?" the tortured girl 
 said faintly. 
 
 Sir Robert was showing her no mercy now. "The 
 truth, madam, if you can," he said. 
 
 "The truth !" she answered. "What is the truth 
 to you? It's not the truth you want. It's me my 
 very soul that's what you want ! Not to wring the 
 truth out of me, but just so much of it as will serve 
 your ends!" 
 
 "Mrs. Admaston," the President said compassion- 
 ately, but with emphasis, "these outbursts do not 
 assist your case." 
 
 "My case!" Peggy cried helplessly. "My lord, 
 who will believe me in the face of this lying letter? 
 It is a trap a trap, I say ! I have been hunted and 
 hounded into it. I am not surprised now that in- 
 nocent women in hundreds let their cases go by de- 
 fault rather than face the humiliation and torture 
 of this awful place." 
 
 "Madam, I must insist upon an answer," Sir Rob- 
 ert said relentlessly. 
 
 "What am I to answer?" she cried again, wring- 
 ing her hands with a terribly piteous gesture. 
 
 "If you ask me, Mrs. Admaston, let me advise 
 you to answer the truth." 
 
 "The truth?" 
 
 174
 
 "Yes, the truth that this trip to Paris was all 
 arranged between you and your lover" his voice 
 sank and became deeply impressive; "that at the 
 very moment in which your husband was trying to 
 reach you upon the telephone you were in that lover's 
 arms ?" 
 
 "It is a lie!" she said despairingly. 
 
 "The telephone bell rang several times before it 
 was answered, did it not?" 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 Sir Robert cut her short. "I suggest to you that 
 even then you were in your lover's arms?" he said 
 with bitter scorn. 
 
 "It is a lie !" Peggy answered once more. 
 
 "Then, Mrs. Admaston, and for the last time, I 
 press for an answer. Do you still insist that you 
 and your lover " 
 
 She didn't allow him to finish his sentence. Des- 
 perate as she was, the hot words poured from her 
 in a cataract of sound. 
 
 "How dare you suggest that he is my lover !" she 
 cried. "I tell you that I have never loved him! 
 never never never never! If I had loved him 
 do you think that I would be here now ? For months 
 and months he has begged and entreated me to let 
 my husband divorce me so that I could marry him. 
 If I had loved him, do you think that I would have 
 faced this horrible place? I have never loved him. 
 
 175
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 I have been foolish I have played with fire I have 
 loved his admiration. I did not know that the law 
 man's law made no difference between the op- 
 portunity to do wrong and the wrong itself. I know 
 now. Some day men who know women will make 
 other laws some of us must have our lives broken 
 first. In the face of that letter and the evidence, 
 no man would ever believe me, whatever I say; but 
 I swear before God that it was all an accident our 
 being in Paris. I swear that I meant no harm by 
 all my little lies. I swear I have done nothing wrong 
 nothing; but no one will believe me now no one." 
 Her voice sank and dropped, and she ended her out- 
 burst with a deep moan of pain. 
 
 "I think we will adjourn now," said the President, 
 and there was pain in his voice also. 
 
 He gathered up the papers before him on his desk 
 and rose. The court rose also. 
 
 There was an immediate hum and bustle, which 
 broke out into the loud murmurs of subdued con- 
 versation as the judge left his seat and disappeared 
 through the door at the back. 
 
 Peggy Admaston, wringing her hands, her face 
 a white wedge of anguish, the pallor dreadfully ac- 
 centuated by the burnished masses of her dark hair, 
 almost stumbled down the steps of the witness-box. 
 Mr. M'Arthur and her solicitor a little confused 
 knot of people, indeed hastened up to her, and with 
 
 176
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 a grim face Sir Robert Fyffe, not looking in the girl's 
 direction, arranged his papers and spoke earnestly 
 to his junior. 
 
 The scene was one of indescribable excitement. 
 
 It was as though a thunderbolt had fallen, and 
 people looked at each other with pale, questioning 
 faces. 
 
 The hum died down for an instant, as the weeping 
 woman was led gently from the court. 
 
 Then it recommenced louder than ever, mingled 
 with the shuffling of innumerable feet. 
 
 '77
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 DIRECTLY the President had risen, Society 
 streamed out into the great hall of the Law Courts. 
 
 Innumerable motor broughams and private car- 
 riages were waiting in Fleet Street, and despite the 
 dullness of the afternoon the eager photographers 
 of the illustrated papers were waiting to get snap- 
 shots of celebrated people as they passed from the 
 sordid theatre of Court No. II. en route for after- 
 noon tea and scandal. 
 
 Henry Passhe had an engagement, and, saying 
 good-bye to Colonel Adams, hurried away. The 
 other remained in the big central hall for a moment 
 or two looking round to see if he could find an 
 acquaintance. 
 
 To him, as he stood there, came Lord Ellerdine 
 and struck him on the shoulder. 
 
 "Hullo, Adams!" he said, in a voice which was 
 very subdued. "Thought I saw you in court. Been 
 watching this dreadful business?" 
 
 Colonel Adams nodded. "Yes, Ellerdine," he 
 said. "Henry Passhe brought me. He much wanted 
 to come. I hesitated whether I should go or not, 
 
 178
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and now I am very sorry I did. To see a charming 
 little woman like Mrs. Admaston tortured that 
 isn't very pleasant." 
 
 The other thurst his arm into the colonel's. 
 "Damned dreadful, isn't it ?" he said in an agitated 
 voice. "Well, look here, let's get out of this. What 
 are you going to do?" 
 
 "I have nothing particular to do at present; but 
 why do you ask, Ellerdine?" 
 
 "Look here," Lord Ellerdine replied "we can't 
 talk here, but I have got an idea." His voice 
 glowed with pride as he said it. "I haven't men- 
 tioned it to a soul, and I don't want to mention it 
 to any one concerned in the case. Upon my soul, 
 Adams, it is a godsend to have met you. I want to 
 hear what you think. Are you game to listen?" 
 
 Adams nodded. He liked Lord Ellerdine, as 
 everybody did, though he had no higher opinion of 
 that gentleman's intelligence than the rest of the 
 world. 
 
 "Quite at your service, Ellerdine," he answered; 
 "and if your idea is one that may possibly help 
 Mrs. Admaston, I shall be more pleased still." 
 
 "Of course it is," Lord Ellerdine answered. 
 "Well, let's go and talk it over. It is impossible in 
 this infernal rush." 
 
 "All right," Colonel Adams replied, "Come to 
 179
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 the Cocoa Tree, or, if you like, I will come with you 
 to White's." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine shook his head. "We will have 
 some tea," he said. "But I don't want to go west 
 now until I have talked this idea of mine over with 
 you. If you agree that there is anything in it, then 
 we should only have to come back to this part of 
 the world again. Can't we get a cup of tea some- 
 where about here?" 
 
 By this time the two men had walked outside the 
 Law Courts and were standing among the motley 
 crowd which was pouring out of the great central 
 doorway and also the side approaches to the public 
 galleries and courts. 
 
 They looked around them. Both of them were 
 absolutely at sea in this part of London. 
 
 "Tell you what," Ellerdine said suddenly: "I 
 have got another idea. Let's go to an A.B.C. 
 what?" 
 
 "What do you mean ?" Adams replied. 
 
 "Why," Lord Ellerdine answered, "the A.B.C. 
 you know, where clerks and people have tea. There 
 are always lots of them in every street, I believe." 
 
 They turned eastwards and began to walk slowly 
 down Fleet Street. 
 
 "Ellerdine," Colonel Adams exclaimed bitterly, 
 "look at this!" 
 
 1 80
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The pavements were lined with news-venders dis- 
 playing great contents bills of the evening papers : 
 
 "MRS. ADMASTON ON THE RACK"; "SOCIETY 
 LADY'S ADMISSIONS"; and in a violently Radical 
 sheet, "SOCIETY BUTTERFLY EXAMINED." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine saw the placards also. "Sicken- 
 ing, isn't it?" he said, with a real note of pain in 
 his voice. "Poor little Peggy ! Poor little girl ! I 
 would have done anything to stop it, Adams; and 
 in half an hour these newspaper fellows are so 
 damned clever in half an hour there'll be all about 
 the last scene, the letter and all that. By the time 
 we get back to town" Lord Ellerdine didn't im- 
 agine that he was really in London at the moment, 
 "by the time we get back to town it will be in all 
 the clubs just as it has come over the tape machines 
 for the last two hours, only with further details 
 how Peggy looked and all that. Sickening !" 
 
 Colonel Adams agreed. He did not in the least 
 know what his rather fatuous friend was about to 
 propose or had in his mind ; but he was, at anyrate, 
 glad of his companionship, weary and unhappy as 
 he felt at the terrible spectacle which he had found 
 almost impossible to endure. 
 
 "I could kill that man Robert Fyffe," he said 
 savagely as they walked slowly eastwards. "Great, 
 big, damned bully, I call him." 
 
 "Well, I know him," Ellerdine replied; "and 
 181
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 really, Adams, he is quite a decent chap in private 
 life. It is his job, you know, and he has got to do 
 it as well as he can. I believe he gets about a 
 hundred a day or more for a case like this." 
 
 "Filthy cruelty, I call it," Adams answered, 
 "whether he is a decent chap or not. To be paid 
 to earn your living, by Gad! to torture men and 
 women like that seems to me a low way of earning 
 your bread-and-butter." 
 
 "Perhaps it is," the other replied. "At the same 
 time, Adams, it might be said of your job too. That 
 Afghan business, when there was no quarter, that 
 you were in : there were a whole lot of sentimental- 
 ists in the Radical press that howled and held you 
 up to execration as a sort of Pontius Pilate with a 
 flavour of Nero, at home. You were out there do- 
 ing the work. I was home and read the papers 
 you didn't. Bally monster, they called you what ?" 
 
 "Damn all newspaper writers!" the old white- 
 haired colonel growled. "But I say, Ellerdine, what 
 about this cup of tea?" 
 
 Lord Ellerdine looked round anxiously, and then 
 his face lighted up. "Here's an A.B.C.," he said, 
 pointing to some adjacent windows covered with 
 letters in white enamel and displaying buns and 
 pastry. 
 
 "How will this do, old chap ?" 
 182
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The soldier nodded, and together the two men 
 entered the shop. 
 
 "What do we do now?" Ellerdine said, looking 
 round him with some perplexity. "By Jove ! there's 
 a pretty girl." 
 
 One of the waitresses, realising suddenly that the 
 two gentlemen who had just entered were quite un- 
 accustomed to the ways of the establishment, and 
 having one of her tables vacant, hurried up to them. 
 
 "Tea?" she said engagingly. 
 
 "That's just it, my dear," said Lord Ellerdine, 
 with a pleased smile, "Now, you show us all the 
 ropes, will you?" 
 
 "Come this way," said the pretty waitress, with 
 an engaging little toss of her head and a conscious- 
 ness of something pleasantly unusual. She led them 
 to a little round-topped marble table where two cheap 
 cane chairs were waiting, upon which Lord Eller- 
 dine and Colonel Adams seated themselves. 
 
 "Tea, I think you said?" said the waitress to 
 Lord Ellerdine, whom she obviously found the most 
 sympathetic of the pair. 
 
 The ex-diplomatist nodded. "But we must have 
 something to eat what? Well, my dear, we will 
 leave it to you. Carte blanclie what?" 
 
 "Now look here, Adams," Lord Ellerdine said, 
 "what I want to tell you is this. Of course, I am 
 tremendously interested in this case. I am mixed 
 
 183
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 up in it considerably, and also I am a great friend 
 of Peggy's one of her oldest friends. You know 
 her too, though not as well as I do, and you know 
 what a charming little woman she is. I would do 
 anything to save her if I could, and I have got an 
 idea! Now, some time ago," Lord Ellerdine con- 
 tinued, "a silly Johnny a secretary it was forged 
 my name. It was en a cheque. There was con- 
 siderable difficulty in finding out who was the actual 
 culprit, as owing to the circumstances there were 
 several people who might have done it. My so- 
 licitors told me that the only way to really find out 
 was to go to a handwriting expert. I didn't know 
 what that was until they explained, but it seems 
 there are Johnnies who make a regular profession 
 of studying people's writing." 
 
 "Are there, by Jove!" said the colonel, much in- 
 terested. 
 
 "Yes; and just at that time it was some two 
 years ago the king and skipper of the whole lot 
 had come over from America and established a 
 branch in London. His name is William Q. 
 Devereux." 
 
 "Is it, by Jove !" said the colonel again. 
 
 Ellerdine nodded. "Odd," he said, "but true, 
 parole d'honneur. He started an office in London 
 to help all the commercial Johnnies in the city, and 
 so I went to him with my papers ; and I am damned 
 
 184
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 if the chap didn't find out who forged my name in 
 about an hour, and we had him nailed that same 
 evening. Cost me a tenner, that's all." 
 
 Colonel Adams nodded, looking with some trepi- 
 dation at the pile of rather too luscious-looking 
 pastry which had by now been set upon the table. 
 
 "I don't think I will venture," he said to him- 
 self; and then to Ellerdine, "Well, go on, Eller- 
 dine." 
 
 "Now, in my pocket," Lord Ellerdine continued, 
 "I have got exact photographs and tracings of the 
 letters which have made such a fuss this afternoon. 
 My idea, Adams, is that you and I if you have 
 time, that is should go down into the City and see 
 this expert chap and see if he can throw some light 
 on the situation. They have tried all the experts 
 in London on Peggy's case, but they don't seem to 
 know about my American friend. I believe in him. 
 He is one of the most astute people going. What do 
 you say to trying him for poor little Peggy's sake ?" 
 
 "Excellent idea, by Jove!" the other answered. 
 "You've got his address, of course?" 
 
 "Oh yes," Lord Ellerdine replied ; "it's in Coleman 
 Street, E.C. Now, I wonder if you would mind 
 going down with me and seeing what he has got to 
 say?" 
 
 "Not in the least," Colonel Adams answered. "In 
 fact I shall be tremendously interested. I'd do a 
 
 185
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 good deal more than that, my dear Ellerdine, if I 
 could, to help Mrs. Admaston in any way." 
 
 "Very well, then," said the peer. "We'll just 
 finish our tea, and pay that pretty-looking girl and 
 take a taxi at once." 
 
 In five minutes they had dismissed the cab and 
 were being carried in a lift to the third floor of a 
 big block of buildings in Coleman Street. 
 
 The door of Mr. Devereux's office was marked 
 "Enter," and the newcomers found themselves in a 
 small but comfortably furnished room. At a round 
 polished table, on which* there was a typewriting 
 machine, sat a young lady, who was reading a novel 
 of Miss Marie Corelli's. 
 
 "Mr. Devereux is in," she said in answer to their 
 queries, "but he is just about to leave. However, 
 I will take your name and see if he can see you." 
 
 Some people would have been annoyed at this 
 fashion of greeting, but to the two simple gentle- 
 men in question it seemed quite right and proper 
 that such a rare bird as an American handwriting 
 expert should be fenced round with a certain ritual. 
 
 "Tell Mr. Devereux," said Lord Ellerdine, "that 
 Lord Ellerdine is here. Mr. Devereux knows me." 
 
 Unlike the young person in the cafe, the young 
 lady in the office did not seem at all impressed, but 
 languidly sauntered through the door which led to 
 the inner room. She came back much more quickly 
 
 1 86
 
 than she had entered. "Mr. Devereux begs that 
 you will step in," she said, and once more fell to her 
 enthralling romance as the door closed behind the 
 visitors. 
 
 Mr. Devereux was a well-dressed, trim young 
 American with a hard, clean-shaved face. His man- 
 ner was brisk, business-like, and deferential, and his 
 whole appearance suggested energy and capability. 
 
 Upon his large leather-covered writing-table were 
 various appliances used in his business. 
 
 One saw a microscope of some peculiar construc- 
 tion. There were a variety of small lenses and 
 reading-glasses, together with various instruments 
 of shining steel for measuring, with extreme ac- 
 curacy, the length qf a letter or a line. 
 
 There was also an enlarging camera upon a 
 shelf by the window, and a door in one corner of 
 the place was marked "Dark room." 
 
 "Glad to see you again, my lord," said Mr. 
 Devereux. "Not a forgery case this time, I hope?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it," Lord Ellerdine replied, shaking 
 hands with the expert. "Glad to see you, Mr. Dev- 
 ereux. No ; it is something far more important than 
 a cheque for fifty pounds. It is to do with the Ad- 
 maston divorce case." 
 
 Mr. Devereux started. His face became almost 
 ferret-like in its intentness, while he said nasally, 
 but with suppressed eagerness in his voice, "I guess 
 '187
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 this is a bit of luck. I have just seen this evening's 
 paper, and of course I have followed the case with 
 great interest from first to last. I know without any 
 possibility of doubt that all my brother experts in 
 London have been consulted. And from the first 
 it has rather hurt me that nobody had come to me, 
 because I do claim " 
 
 Lord Ellerdine interrupted him. "I know, I 
 know," he said ; "there is no one that can touch you, 
 
 Mr. Devereux. But probably, you see " He 
 
 hesitated in his effort to soothe the somewhat 
 wounded feelings of the expert. 
 
 Colonel Adams came to the rescue. "Well, Mr. 
 Devereux," he said, "here we are, and we have got 
 something very important on which to ask your 
 opinion." 
 
 The expert became all attention once more. 
 "What is it?" he said briefly. 
 
 Lord Ellerdine put his hand in the breast-pocket 
 of his coat and withdrew a long envelope full of 
 papers. 
 
 "I have here," he said, "exact photographs and 
 tracings everything that you will probably find 
 needful, in fact of the two letters which you have 
 just been reading about in the evening paper, and 
 which have caused such a tremendous sensation this 
 afternoon. It seems at the moment that Mrs. Ad- 
 maston has absolutely lost her case. To all outward 
 
 1 88
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 appearances these letters have ruined her. At the 
 same time, I am certain that she knew nothing about 
 them, and that Mr. Collingwood knew nothing about 
 them either. You follow me?" 
 
 Lord Ellerdine had never been so concise and 
 explanatory before, but the occasion had come, and 
 he had risen to it 
 
 "I follow you perfectly," said the expert. 
 
 "Very well, then," Lord Ellerdine said ; "here are 
 the letters, and I want you to tell me what you 
 think about them." 
 
 He gave the envelope to the expert, who with- 
 drew the papers it contained and spread them upon 
 the table. 
 
 He began to study them with grave attention. 
 The two men sat in the comfortable chairs he had 
 indicated to them. 
 
 "My lord," said the expert, looking up suddenly, 
 "I guess you won't realise the necessity of it, but 
 I should very much like to be left alone for say 
 twenty minutes. I can think better when I am 
 alone, and I gather you want an immediate opinion ?" 
 
 "We do," Lord Ellerdine replied. "All right ; we 
 will go, and come back in half an hour or so." 
 
 The two gentlemen re-entered the waiting-room. 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Lord Ellerdine briskly to 
 the young lady, "we are put out here while Mr. 
 
 189
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Devereux examines some papers I have brought in ; 
 and he tells us that we are to talk to you what?" 
 
 The young lady put down her volume. "Fright- 
 fully cold," she said, "isn't it?" And for the next 
 half-hour Lord Ellerdine and Colonel Adams and 
 this very superior young lady conversed with a 
 studied propriety which certainly did not obtain in 
 the drawing-rooms where the two gentlemen were 
 accustomed to visit. 
 
 At the end of that time the door opened and the 
 keen-faced American came out. 
 
 He was rubbing his hands briskly as though 
 pleased with himself. "Guess I have got something 
 for you, at anyrate," he said, "if you will come in 
 here." 
 
 They re-entered the inner room, and Devereux 
 began. "I can tell you one thing," he said, "and 
 one thing only." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine was trembling with excitement. 
 "What is it?" he said breathlessly. "Will it help?" 
 
 "It may," the expert replied; "but at anyrate it 
 is this. Those two letters were written by some one 
 who can write with the left hand as well as with 
 the right. There is not the slightest doubt about 
 it, and I don't care what any of your darned English 
 experts may say." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine's face fell. "With the left hand ?" 
 he asked vaguely. 
 
 190
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 The expert nodded. "I will explain to you," he 
 said, pulling a large book of manuscripts towards 
 him ; and illustrating his theory with swift, decisive 
 movements upon a blank sheet of paper, he showed 
 the two men exactly the reasons for his diagnosis. 
 
 "Now, my lord," he said, when he had finished 
 and made certain that both of them thoroughly un- 
 derstood "now, my lord, all you have to do is to 
 find the person who writes with his or her left 
 hand and could have possibly been sufficiently ac- 
 quainted with the facts to produce those two letters. 
 When that is done you will have the person." 
 
 Lord Ellerdine was considerably disappointed. He 
 had imagined that by some occult means the expert 
 would have been immediately able to name the writer 
 of the letters. He strove to conceal what he felt, 
 however; and after paying Mr. Devereux's fee the 
 two men left the building. 
 
 "It isn't much," Lord Ellerdine said, as they got 
 into a cab and drove rapidly towards the West End. 
 "It isn't much, but it is something. I will drop 
 you at your club Cocoa Tree, isn't it? and then 
 drive straight to Collingwood's solicitors to find out 
 where he is. It is not much, but it is something," 
 he repeated rather vaguely to himself; and then 
 both men became occupied with their own thoughts 
 and were silent 
 
 191
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE drawing-room of Mrs. Admaston's house in 
 St. James's was thought by many people to be one 
 of the most delightful rooms in town. 
 
 The Morris and aesthetic conventions were en- 
 tirely ignored in it. There were no soft greys or 
 greens, no patterns of pomegranates, no brown and 
 pleasing sombreness. The room expressed Peggy 
 herself, and was designed entirely by her. 
 
 It was large, panelled entirely in white with sparse 
 gilding, and the ceiling was white also, though 
 slightly different in tone. The very few pictures 
 which hung upon the walls were all of the gay Wat- 
 teau school, and there were some fans painted on 
 silk and framed by Charles Conder. 
 
 The furniture was not obtrusive. It was in the 
 light style of the Second Empire, fragile and deli- 
 cate in appearance, but strong and comfortable 
 enough in experience. 
 
 The room was essentially a summer room, and 
 yet one could see that even in winter time it would 
 strike a note of warmth, hospitality, and comfort. 
 
 For, with great wisdom, Peggy had made con- 
 192
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 cessions. While the drawing-room still preserved 
 its gay French air, there was, nevertheless, a huge 
 open hearth on which, in winter, logs and coal 
 glowed redly. Now, it was filled with great bunches 
 of the simple pink foxglove. 
 
 Standing out from the fireplace, at right angles 
 to the wall, was a large sofa of blue linen; and 
 there was also a big writing-table with a pleasant 
 furniture of chased silver upon it. 
 
 This room in the luxurious house was called the 
 "drawing-room," but it was not really that. It 
 was, in fact, Mrs. Admaston's own particular room 
 she hated the word boudoir. The big reception- 
 rooms had no such intimate and pleasant aspect 
 splendid as they were as this. 
 
 The flowers bloomed on the hearth, the long dull- 
 green curtains had not yet veiled the warm outside 
 evening, when a footman entered and flung open 
 the two big doors which led into this delightful 
 place. 
 
 The man stood waiting with one arm stretched 
 out upon one leaf of the door. 
 
 Mrs. Admaston and Lady Attwill entered, and 
 Pauline followed them. 
 
 "Bring some tea at once," Pauline said in a low 
 voice to the footman. 
 
 Then she turned to Peggy. "Madame," she said 
 193
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 in a voice full of pain, "do compose yourself. You 
 will be very ill if you go on like this." 
 
 Peggy's face was dangerously flushed. Her eyes 
 glittered, her hands clasped and unclasped them- 
 selves. 
 
 "That letter!" she cried. "That fiendish letter! 
 Who could have sent it? What devil planned that 
 trap?" 
 
 Lady Attwftt shrugged her shoulders. "Anony- 
 mous take no notice," she said. 
 
 Peggy turned on her like a whirlwind. "Don't 
 be absurd, Alice!" she cried. "It was sent before 
 we left London. Who knew we should go to Paris ? 
 Who knew that we should stay at the Tuileries?" 
 
 Pauline was hovering round her mistress with a 
 face that was all anxiety, with hands that trembled 
 to touch and soothe. "Remember, madame," she 
 said, "it was sent to your aunt. Very funny that! 
 She has never liked you, that grim old lady!" 
 
 "Why did she dislike me?" Peggy said petu- 
 lantly. 
 
 "Madame, you were gay, happy like sunbeams. 
 Your old aunt lived in the shadows. She is a dour 
 old maid." 
 
 "I don't see what she has to do with it," Peggy 
 answered. "The letter was written by some one 
 who knew that we were going to stay in Paris, 
 and even where we were going to stay." 
 
 194
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Lady Attwill went up to the fireplace and sank 
 down upon the sofa of blue linen. 
 
 In her smart afternoon costume of grey silk, and 
 a large straw hat upon which the flowers were 
 amethyst and purple, she made a perfect colour- 
 harmony as she sat. 
 
 "Why was it sent to her?" Lady Attwill asked. 
 
 Peggy sighed. "I don't know, except that she 
 was the one to poison George's mind. Without her 
 he would probably have ignored it. But who was it 
 who knew that we should be in Paris that night? 
 No one imagines that I knew or Pauline. Then 
 there's Dicky that's absurd." 
 
 Peggy's face seemed to have grown older. The 
 terrible ordeal that she had undergone had left vivid 
 traces upon it. It was not a frightened face it was 
 the face of one who had been agonised, but it was 
 also a face of great perplexity. 
 
 Pauline interposed. "Madame," she said, "if you 
 did not know that you would be staying at Paris 
 that night, the writer of that letter must be some 
 one who did know, and who planned this trick to 
 compromise you. There are only two who could 
 have known. Madame I do not like . . ." 
 
 In the maid's voice the old, harsh Breton deter- 
 mination had flashed out. She turned towards Lady 
 Attwill, and her whole voice and bearing were a 
 challenge. 
 
 195
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Her head was pushed a little forward, moving 
 from side to side like a snake about to strike; un- 
 consciously her arms were set akimbo. 
 
 Lady Attwill looked languidly at the angry 
 woman. <r You need have no delicacy, Pauline," she 
 said. "Ca fait rien, expliquez-vous. Tiens ! What 
 you want to say is that the letter was written by 
 Mr. Collingwood or by myself or by somebody or 
 other procured by us to do it. C'est votre idee, 
 n'est-ce pas ?" 
 
 The woman, in her way in her languid way- 
 was defiant as the old Breton bonne herself. 
 
 Peggy rose and began to walk up and down the 
 room. She had been sitting almost opposite Lady 
 Attwill, but now there seemed to be hesitation and 
 perplexity, not only in her voice, but in her whole 
 attitude. 
 
 "But you could not have done it, Alice," she said. 
 "The luggage, don't you know it was Colling who 
 saw that it was not registered." 
 
 "That is only what the porter says," Alice Attwill 
 answered grimly. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," Peggy replied, "it is only too ob- 
 viously true. Pauline saw through it the same night. 
 Didn't you think it was very funny?" 
 
 Lady Attwill fell immediately into the suggestion. 
 
 "Well, dear," she said, "Dicky and I were a little 
 196
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 bit suspicious, since you put it to me; but I hardly 
 liked to suggest " 
 
 Peggy turned from both of them and went up 
 to the piano, standing by it and drumming upon 
 it with her gloved fingers. "Colling!" she mut- 
 tered. "It's impossible! And yet just now when I 
 left the court I could not think how else it could 
 have been done/' 
 
 She wheeled round. "Alice," she said, "do you 
 think it could have been Colling? Do you? What 
 reason could he have had?" 
 
 Alice Attwill's hands were clasped upon her knee. 
 She was bending forward, nodding her head slightly 
 from time to time, and had an almost judicial pose. 
 
 She appeared to be thinking. "My dear Peggy," 
 she said at length, "I can see plenty of reasons. 
 After all, we know that Colling won't be sorry if 
 Admaston gets his divorce." 
 
 "I beg miladi's pardon," Pauline broke in, "but 
 I do not think that is so." 
 
 "C'est bien possible," Lady Attwill replied to the 
 maid. And then, looking at Peggy, "I am sure I 
 can't imagine Mr. Collingwood doing such a thing. 
 I am the last person to make mischief." 
 
 She rose as she spoke and walked towards the 
 door. "Come along, Peggy," she said; "you must 
 get your things off- you've had such a horrible day." 
 
 197
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Peggy looked at her wildly. She hardly seemed 
 to hear what she was saying. 
 
 "No no let me think I must think!" she 
 cried, and there was a rising note of hysteria in 
 her voice. 
 
 "Well," Lady Attwill said calmly, "I must get 
 out of my things, at anyrate." Then she spoke with 
 something which sounded like affection in her voice. 
 
 "Peggy/' she said, "you really must lie down and 
 rest I shall be down in a few minutes." 
 
 With a bright smile she took her parasol and left 
 the room. 
 
 Then Peggy let herself go. 
 
 , "Oh! How cruel it is!" she cried, raging up 
 and down the drawing-room. "They have taken 
 all the joy out of my life! I feel as if they had 
 burnt the damning letter in scarlet upon my breast 
 branded by law, divorce-court law ! Oh, the ig- 
 nominy, the shame of it all the shame! It is 
 barbarous! To hold a woman up and torture her 
 before a pruriently minded crowd whether she is 
 guilty or not! Am I guilty because I can't prove 
 that I am innocent?" 
 
 The old maid ran up to Peggy and caught her 
 firmly by the arms, pressing her down into a chair. 
 
 "Rest ! rest !" she said, with the tears rolling down 
 her cheeks. "Mignon, you will break my heart if 
 you go on like this. You are innocent; I stake my 
 
 198
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 soul on that. Wait wait till to-morrow when I am 
 witness. I will tell them!" 
 
 Peggy's arms went round the old maid's neck and 
 she drew the gnarled face to hers. "Pauline," she 
 said, "dear Pauline! They will torture you as they 
 did me. It is useless. Sir Robert Fyffe will make 
 you say just what he wants. It is not justice that 
 triumps in the end it is intellect that damns. 
 Pauline, do you think that Mr. Collingwood knew 
 that we should be in Paris that night, and that he 
 wrote the letter?" 
 
 Pauline kissed her. "I think, madame," she said, 
 "that M. Collingwood knew that we should be in 
 Paris. But I am certain he did not write that letter. 
 M. Collingwood might have done a very foolish 
 thing, thinking that you loved him but he is a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 "But if he did not write it then you think that 
 Lady Attwill . . . ?" 
 
 "Comme vous voulez? If it is not M. Colling- 
 wood, madame, it must be Lady Attwill." 
 
 "But why should she have done such a fiendish 
 thing?" 
 
 "She has never forgiven you for marrying Mr. 
 Admaston. Did I not tell you, madame? Did I 
 not say that to you in Paris?" 
 
 Peggy nodded. "Yes, Pauline," she replied; "but 
 199
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 I can't believe you. She has seen my misery. No, 
 Pauline, it is impossible!" 
 
 "Madame, it is not impossible. She can only 
 conquer by your misery." 
 
 Peggy jumped up from the sofa, her whole body 
 shaking, her face aflame with righteous anger. 
 "Pauline!" she said in a shrill voice, "I must find 
 out who wrote that letter." 
 
 "Yes, madame," the old maid replied, with a 
 despairing gesture of her hands ; "but how will you 
 do it?" 
 
 "I shall employ the same weapons to find out 
 that as they have brought against me. The law, 
 the officers, the craft and cunning of the whole 
 machine. I am very rich, Pauline, quite apart from 
 my husband as you know very well; but, if it 
 cost me every penny I had, I would spend it all, 
 if necessary, to find out who wrote that letter." 
 
 The door opened and two footmen came in with 
 the tea equipage. Peggy looked up at them, an- 
 noyed at the interruption; then her eye fell upon 
 the windows at the end of the room which led upon 
 a long, secluded terrace outside the drawing-room. 
 It was called the "terrace lounge." 
 
 "Not here," she said impatiently; "on the ter- 
 race." 
 
 The men took the table through the windows, 
 200
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 pulling aside the curtains which half veiled the view 
 beyond. 
 
 "I'll rest and think, Pauline," Peggy said. "I 
 can always think in that old Sheraton chair on the 
 terrace." 
 
 "But if M. Collingwood calls ?" Pauline asked. 
 
 "Why should he call?" Peggy said. "I see no 
 reason." 
 
 "He telephoned asking if you would see him," 
 the maid replied. 
 
 "Ah !" Peggy said, with a sudden note of resolve. 
 
 It frightened the faithful Breton maid. "Don't 
 see him, madame!" she cried. "Rest!" 
 
 "No rest for us yet, Pauline. ... I will see 
 him. I must see him. Let him be shown in here. 
 Tell me as soon as he comes." 
 
 She turned and went through one of the windows 
 just as the two men-servants came out of the other, 
 having arranged the things for tea. 
 
 "When M. Collingwood comes," Pauline said, 
 "show him in here." 
 
 The first footman bowed. Pauline's word was 
 law in this house; and, though it was bitterly re- 
 sented below-stairs that she, a servant herself, should 
 have such authority, no one ventured to dispute it. 
 
 At the far end of the drawing-room not the end 
 where the curtained windows led out on to the ter- 
 race lounge there was a tall screen of carved teak- 
 
 201
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 wood from Benares. Behind it upon a little table 
 stood a telephone. The Admastons husband and 
 wife had always made a great point of using the 
 telephone. Peggy herself, with her impulsive moods, 
 found it most convenient, and insisted upon having 
 one in any room that she habitually used. 
 
 Pauline, her face wrinkled in thought, strolled 
 mechanically to this corner of the room and gazed 
 down upon the glittering little machine of ebony 
 and silver with a frown of dislike. She was think- 
 ing of Collingwood and his message, and a dull re- 
 sentment glowed in her brain at these mechanical 
 facilities of life. 
 
 There were no telephones in Pont-Aven when 
 she was a girl in the ancient Breton town, and these 
 things seemed to her part and parcel of the hot, 
 feverish, and hurried life in which her beloved mis- 
 tress was suffering so greatly. 
 
 The old bonne's face, kindly and sweet enough 
 when it wore its ordinary expression, was now 
 mocking and malevolent as she stared at the table. 
 Suddenly she stiffened, raised her head, and listened 
 intently. 
 
 She had heard the door of the drawing-room 
 open and close quietly, and there came a rustle of 
 silk skirts. 
 
 Lady Attwill had glided quietly into the room 
 202
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and stepped up to the big writing-table at which 
 Peggy conducted most of her correspondence. 
 
 The maid stepped out from behind the screen, her 
 eyes shining curiously. "Can I do anything for 
 madame?" she asked. "Miladi a oublie quelque 
 chose, n'est-ce pas?" 
 
 The tall, slim woman seemed strangely confused. 
 Her face was a little flushed, her glance at Pauline 
 distinctly uneasy. 
 
 She made an exclamation in French, paused to 
 think, and then answered Pauline in English. 
 
 "I thought I left my bag down here," she said 
 lamely. 
 
 Without troubling to disguise the suspicion and 
 hostility in her voice, and with a slightly sneering 
 note of triumph in it, as if she was pleased at Alice 
 Attwill's confusion, Pauline made a little mocking 
 bow. 
 
 "Madame had her bag in her hand when she went 
 upstairs. But I will ring and ask." She went to- 
 wards the nearest bell-push. 
 
 "No! no!" Lady Attwill answered; "please don't 
 trouble. I must be mistaken." 
 
 Without a backward glance she almost hurried 
 from the room. 
 
 Pauline's face was now extraordinarily watchful 
 and alert. All the peasant cunning flashed out upon 
 it. Any one who has seen the wives and daughters 
 
 203
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 of the small Breton farmers selling a cow or a pony 
 on market-day in some old-world town has seen this 
 cautious, watchful look. One can see it even on 
 the face and in the eyes of a pointer when birds 
 are near: it is of the soil, primeval, part of the 
 eternal hidden warfare of life. 
 
 "Yes, perhaps madame is mistaken," the woman 
 said to herself with an ugly grin. 
 
 She walked up to the writing-table and looked 
 down upon it thoughtfully. 
 
 Suddenly something seemed to strike her and she 
 stretched out her hand to open the great blotter of 
 Nile-green leather, bordered with silver, when the 
 telephone bell rang sharply out into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 She hurried to the telephone. "Who is it?" she 
 said. "What? Yes, this is Admaston House 
 yes. She is in. Who is it? Yes, sir," 
 
 Still holding the receiver in her hand, the woman 
 staggered back from the mouthpiece. She began 
 to tremble violently. Her face became crimson 
 with excitement. 
 
 "Oh, sir! she is . . ." 
 
 And now Pauline burst out crying. The tears 
 ran down her cheeks, her old mouth trembled, she 
 seemed upon the point of a breakdown. 
 
 '*Oh, sir!" she cried again, "she has gone out 
 upon the terrace, and is resting. Monsieur, I can 
 
 204
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 hardly speak to you! Your wife is nearly mad, 
 monsieur ! Monsieur, she is innocent on my soul !" 
 
 Her face became intensely eager. "Yes," she 
 sobbed, "come. Yes, by the gate leading from the 
 Park. You have the key. No. Yes, come; I will 
 promise." 
 
 With hands that shook terribly, Pauline replaced 
 the receiver on the bracket and came round from 
 behind the Indian screen, walking towards the door. 
 She had not got within three paces of it when it 
 was flung open and the footman announced "Mr. 
 Collingwood." 
 
 Roderick Collingwood entered, spruce, debonncdre 
 as ever, but showing in his face traces of the ordeal 
 he was passing through. 
 
 "Hullo, Pauline; where is madame?" he said. 
 
 "Madame is resting," the maid said, with distinct 
 hostility. 
 
 "Out upon the terrace?" he answered, moving 
 towards the windows. 
 
 Pauline made a swift movement and placed her- 
 self between him and the curtains. 
 
 "No; I think she is in her room, monsieur. Please 
 wait here." 
 
 Collingwood looked at Pauline in some surprise. 
 He seemed hurt "What is the matter, Pauline?" 
 he said. 
 
 205
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Nothing is the matter, sir. Would you like to 
 see the news 1" 
 
 She handed him the evening paper from the 
 writing-table. "I will tell madame," she said, and 
 hurried from the room well knowing that there was 
 another door from the hall by which the terrace could 
 be reached. 
 
 Collingwood picked up the paper, opened it, and 
 eagerly scanned the report of the day's proceedings. 
 Then he flung it down with an oath just as a foot- 
 man entered the room. "Lord Ellerdine wishes to 
 speak to you, sir," said the footman. 
 
 "Is he here?*' Collingwood replied. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Show him up at once." 
 
 In a moment or two more Lord Ellerdine, looking 
 flurried and hot, entered the drawing-room. 
 
 His hat was in his hand, and he was wearing a 
 light grey overcoat. 
 
 "My dear Dicky," Collingwood said, "what on 
 earth brings you here?" 
 
 Collingwood had risen and strolled over to the big 
 settee of blue linen. He sat down upon it calmly. 
 
 "I wanted to ask you something," Lord Ellerdine 
 said in a rather unsteady voice; "so I went round 
 to your solicitors' office, and they told me that I 
 should find you here." 
 
 206
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Well, what is it?" Collingwood asked imper- 
 turbably. 
 
 "I say, Colling do you write with your left 
 hand?" 
 
 The other made a movement of impatience. "My 
 dear Dicky," he said irritably, "what the devil . . . ?" 
 
 "But do you ?" Ellerdine insisted. 
 
 "Of course I don't," Collingwood answered 
 shortly. 
 
 "I thought as much," said Lord Ellerdine, with 
 a sigh of relief. 
 
 "You did, did you?" Collingwood replied, with 
 a slight smile. "What is the game, Dicky ?" 
 
 "It's not a game, Colling ; it's dead serious," said 
 the ex-diplomatist. 
 
 "Why, Dicky, what's up?" 
 
 "You remember some time ago when some silly 
 ass forged my name on a cheque?" Lord Ellerdine 
 asked, still flurried and ill at ease. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, I got to know a handwriting expert an 
 American a devilish smart fellow. When we left 
 the court just now, and Peggy was thinking pretty 
 rotten things about you, I thought I would go and 
 have a word with him." 
 
 Collingwood's languid manner entirely disap- 
 peared. He bent forward with a keen, searching 
 look at his friend. "You found him ?" he asked. 
 
 207
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Ellerdine nodded. 
 
 "Well, what does he say?" 
 
 "I showed him the photos of the letters," Lord 
 Ellerdine continued, "and then the originals, and 
 he says that they are written by some one who 
 writes easily and fluently with his left hand." 
 
 "Left hand! Great Scott! Is he sure?" 
 
 "As sure as an American expert can be of any- 
 thing," the peer returned. 
 
 "That's sure enough," Collingwood replied, 
 shrugging his shoulders and rising up from the 
 sofa. 
 
 He began to walk up and down the room. "That 
 clears me, at anyrate," he said. "But what the devil 
 can it all mean, Ellerdine?" 
 
 Lord Ellerdine had been looking at his friend, 
 pathetically waiting for a word of praise. Now he 
 ventured upon a little fishing remark: 
 
 "Mighty good thing I thought of that American 
 chap don't you think so, Colling?" 
 
 Collingwood hardly seemed to hear him. His 
 head was bent forward and he was deep in thought. 
 
 "Yes, Dicky, yes. Left hand, eh?" 
 
 "Yes," Lord Ellerdine answered, with a plaintive 
 note in his voice. "I think, Colling, I've handled 
 this business with some skill what?" 
 
 "Left hand," the other repeated, in a brown study. 
 208
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "With some skill, Colling what ? Skill what ?" 
 Lord Ellerdine bleated. 
 
 Collingwood looked up at this note in the other's 
 voice. He suddenly realised that the poor gentle- 
 man was pining for praise, and began to administer 
 it in the heartiest possible fashion. 
 
 He smacked him on the shoulder and his voice 
 became absolutely jovial. "Skill!" he said. "My 
 dear Dicky, it's splendid ! Really, you missed your 
 vocation. Diplomacy ! Never ! You're a detective, 
 Dicky ! A sleuth-hound ! A regular Sherlock Holmes, 
 don't you know !" 
 
 Lord Ellerdine was the happiest man in the three 
 kingdoms at that moment. His little mouth twitched 
 with pleasure. His face beamed like the rising sun. 
 "I say, Colling, do you think so do you really 
 think so, Colling?" 
 
 "Think so!" Collingwood answered, laughing. 
 "I'm sure of it, old chap" ; and then, with a sudden, 
 swift transition of manner, "Dicky, look here have 
 you told Admaston?" 
 
 "Not yet," Lord Ellerdine replied. "George Ad- 
 maston is hard hit, devilish hard hit. He doesn't 
 believe Peggy's guilty he'd chuck the case if it 
 wasn't for Fyffe." 
 
 "Chuck the case !' Collingwood said eagerly. 
 
 "I honestly believe he would," Lord Ellerdine 
 answered. "It's the letter which sticks with Fyffe, 
 
 20Q
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 and I don't understand it we come against the 
 beastly thing all the time." 
 
 Collingwood nodded. "Yes," he said; "that let- 
 ter's hell." 
 
 He suddenly raised his head. "Look here, Dicky," 
 he said, "I think I hear Peggy coming; so off you 
 go, please. Get your American expert to dine with 
 us to-night at your place, at eight o'clock. Run 
 along." 
 
 Ellerdine went to the door. "All right, old chap," 
 he said; "that is what I'll do. Eight o'clock. I'm 
 so glad it wasn't you, old chap such a dirty busi- 
 ness!" 
 
 He went out of the room, not noticing that he 
 had left his hat and gloves upon the writing-table. 
 
 A moment afterwards Peggy entered, pulling 
 aside the curtains of the terrace window. She 
 started violently when she saw Collingwood. "You 
 here!" she said, and there was an ugly note of 
 apprehension and even of anger in her voice. 
 "You " 
 
 Collingwood went up to her. "Peggy !" he said. 
 
 "Wasn't that Dicky I heard?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Collingwood had hardly said it, and the two were 
 looking at each other strangely enough, when the 
 door leading into the hall opened and Lord Eller- 
 
 210
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 dine came back. "Forgot my hat, old chap," he 
 said, going up to the table. Then he saw Peggy. 
 
 "Peggy!" he cried, going up to her and taking 
 one of her hands in both of his. "Buck up, little 
 woman ! It'll be all right we'll pull you through !" 
 
 Then he began to hesitate and stammer, while his 
 cheeks flushed and he showed every possible sign 
 of embarrassment. 
 
 "Yes," he continued, "we'll pull you through. 
 Won't we, Colling?" 
 
 He hesitated, at a loss for words; and then his 
 eye fell upon the table. "Ah!" he said. "My hat 
 yes good-bye. Buck up, little woman! And, 
 Colling, don't forget eight o'clock to-night." 
 
 Red and shy as a schoolgirl, Lord Ellerdine some- 
 how got himself out of the room. 
 
 "Poor, dear old Dicky!" Peggy said with a sigh, 
 more to herself than to her companion; and then, 
 turning, "Colling, why have you come?" 
 
 Collingwood held out both his hands. "Peggy 
 dear little Peggy!" he said. "My heart bleeds 
 for you !" 
 
 Peggy stepped back. "Don't let's talk about 
 that," she said swiftly. 
 
 "But, Peggy- 
 
 "It is rather late," the girl returned in the same 
 cold voice; "the time for sympathy is long past. 
 Why did you ask to see me?" 
 
 211
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 There was a deep note of passion in Colling- 
 wood's voice as he answered. "I could not let you 
 think what I could see you were thinking," he said. 
 
 Peggy did not appear moved in any way. "You 
 promised," she said, "neither to come nor to ask 
 to see me." 
 
 "I could not stay away any longer," he answered ; 
 and if ever a man had tears in his voice, Colling- 
 wood had then. 
 
 "Have you come to tell me that the man Stevens 
 is telling a lie, and that our trip to Paris was only 
 accident?" 
 
 "No," the man replied. "Peggy dear, can you 
 ever " 
 
 "Colling! Colling 1 why did you do it?" she 
 wailed. 
 
 His body went back suddenly as if he had received 
 an actual blow in the chest. 
 
 "Oh, Peggy for God's sake! . . ." 
 
 "You have thought neither of God nor me," she 
 answered bitterly. 
 
 "Of you," he cried "always of you, Peggy !" 
 
 She shook her head. "No," she said. "Thought 
 of me would have made you think of all I have had 
 to suffer. Did you think of me when you planned 
 to go to Paris? When did you ever think of me 
 my being my life my soul ? What excuse can you 
 offer?" 
 
 212
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 His arms fell to his side, his face was pale and 
 passionate. "Only my love," he answered "my 
 fierce, burning love. The mad desire to have you 
 for my own. I have thought of nothing else since 
 I met you." 
 
 She bent forward and threw out her arm. The 
 little ivory-white hand was palm upwards, and it 
 shook in dreadful accusation. 
 
 "Thought of me?" she cried. "Was it thought 
 of me that drove me under the lash of that man's 
 scourge to-day? Was it thought of me that placed 
 me like a criminal in that court to-day ? How could 
 you have thought of me and not foreseen the shame, 
 the misery, and the torture to which I have been 
 subjected? Where was your love for me when you 
 were conscious of the mass of evidence these crea- 
 tures were piling up against me ? Did your love of 
 me foresee newsboys rushing about the streets with 
 placards blazing out like letters of fire, 'MRS. AD- 
 MASTON ON THE RACK'? Rack, Colling!" 
 
 He shook his head with a terrible gesture of 
 sadness. 
 
 "No. I did not foresee it," he said, "because 
 you made me believe that you were in earnest 
 that you loved me. If you had loved me you 
 wouldn't have cared." 
 
 "I liked you, Colling, I liked you," she said ; and 
 now all the fire had gone from her voice. 
 
 213
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Liked me! Was it mere liking that made you 
 take all those risks? You knew my intention. I 
 told you again and again I wanted him to divorce 
 you." 
 
 "I never realised " the girl said hopelessly. 
 
 His voice as he answered her was very soft and 
 tender. 
 
 "No, dear; you played with me. I am not blam- 
 ing you, but don't be too harsh in judging me. I 
 know the torture you are suffering now, Peggy, and 
 I would give my right hand to save you from it. 
 But don't you ever think of the torture you have 
 given me? All the pain, the longing- of months and 
 months is it all to be forgotten? Oh, I know it is 
 no excuse to the others ; but you, dear, will know in 
 your heart that I did it because I loved you, thinking 
 to make you happy." 
 
 "I think I understand, Colling," Peggy said ; "but 
 the letter 
 
 Collingwood appeared dazed. "The letter!" he 
 murmured. 
 
 "Oh, Colling," she answered, "I'll forgive you 
 anything you have done because you loved me; but 
 the letter you will own up, Colling?" 
 
 "Own up?" 
 
 "Yes, dear," Peggy said; "my life depends on it. 
 You are a man. You can begin again. Don't see 
 me go under. There is no hope for a woman. Don't 
 
 214
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 stand there and watch me struggle while there is a 
 chance to save me. I'll forgive everything yes, 
 everything but the letter." 
 
 Collingwood seemed genuinely surprised. His 
 face, which at first appeared perplexed, now showed 
 nothing but astonishment as he realised what she 
 meant. "Peggy little Peggy," he said, "surely you 
 don't judge me as harshly as that, do you? No, 
 dear; I have done much that I am sorry for that I 
 shall never be able to forgive myself for as long as 
 I live, but not that. The letter is the work of some 
 one else. I never wrote it." 
 
 "Oh, Colling," she replied, "I am so glad so 
 very glad! But the letter the letter is everything 
 after all. It means everything to me. Then, if you 
 didn't write it there is only one other person who 
 could possibly have done so." 
 
 "Exactly," Collingwood answered. "Lady Att- 
 will and I were the only two people who knew any- 
 thing about the Paris trip, who could know anything 
 about it. But the question is, how on earth are we 
 going to prove that she wrote that letter? I do 
 not see any possible way in which it can be done, 
 and I am sure you don't." 
 
 "If we prove it," Peggy answered, "do you think 
 it will satisfy George, Colling?" 
 
 "Satisfy?" Collingwood replied, seating himself 
 on the edge of the writing-table. "I should think so
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 he is satisfied already. But still, you know, Peggy, 
 the letter sticks. Why, even Lady Attwill knew that 
 there was nothing between us. It was only the ap- 
 pearance of guilt which she schemed for, and that 
 letter gives it." 
 
 "And if we can't prove it, and the worst happens, 
 she hopes to marry George," Peggy said despair- 
 ingly. 
 
 The bitterness of the thought was terrible. It 
 seemed as she sat there that such treachery and 
 black-heartedness were almost incredible. Could 
 the woman who had been her constant friend, who 
 had stayed with her for months at a time, on whom 
 she had lavished innumerable favours, be so base 
 and despicable of soul as this? 
 
 Collingwood saw what was passing in her mind, 
 and nodded. 
 
 "That is her game without a doubt, Peggy," he 
 said earnestly. 
 
 "Then why has she stood by me all these months ? 
 Why? Why? That is what I want to know," 
 Peggy said. 
 
 Collingwood smiled bitterly. "Why, don't you 
 see?" he said. "Because her devotion to you will 
 touch George, who still loves you." 
 
 Peggy's face changed in a moment. "Oh, Col- 
 ling!" she said, and her voice was inexpressibly 
 
 216
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 pathetic "oh, Colling, do "you think George does 
 love me still?" 
 
 "I know he does, and that you love him. My 
 dear, if I could have won you I should not have 
 stayed away all these months; but I owed you that 
 and I tried to play the game." 
 
 "Colling," she answered, in a burst of warmth 
 and kindliness, "I never liked you so much as I do 
 now, Colling. I think it is because I feel I can 
 lean upon you and trust you " 
 
 "Poor little Butterfly!" he answered; and there 
 were tears in the eyes of this hardened man of 
 fashion, tears which sprang to his eyes in spite of 
 himself and showed the deep tenderness beneath. 
 
 "But, Colling," Peggy went on anxiously, "have 
 we any chance at all of proving it against her? She 
 has been awfully clever about it all, hasn't she?" 
 
 Collingwood shook his head rather hopelessly. 
 "I doubt if we have any chance at all," he said. 
 "But there is just one thing I have just remem- 
 bered it. I have a sort of clue, and that is one which 
 Dicky has just given me when he was here a few 
 minutes ago." 
 
 "Oh ! Dicky !" Peggy said, with a wan little smile. 
 
 "Well," Collingwood resumed, "of course no one 
 would call Dicky intellectual and that, but I really 
 think there is something in what he said this time. 
 I'll tell you. He has consulted an American hand- 
 
 217
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 writing expert about the letters, and he says that 
 they are the work of some one who can write with 
 the left hand. I know that I can't write with my left 
 hand. But what about Alice?" 
 
 "I don't know," Peggy answered slowly; "I have 
 never heard of her doing so." 
 
 "Or using it more than the ordinary?" Colling- 
 wood continued. 
 
 "Yes stay," Peggy replied eagerly. "She is ever 
 so good with it at billiards." 
 
 Collingwood laughed. 
 
 "Oh, don't laugh, Colling!" she continued 
 "please don't laugh at me but I remember she 
 did tell me yes that she broke her right arm 
 sleighing when she was a girl, and that she is almost 
 ambidextrous. It has only just come back to me. 
 She told me many years ago." 
 
 Collingwood jumped up from the table alert and 
 excited. 
 
 "That is something by Jove! it is," he cried. 
 "Tell me, where is she?" 
 
 "She has only gone upstairs for a moment," 
 Peggy said. "I am expecting her down every mo- 
 ment." 
 
 "By the way, Peggy," Collingwood asked, "where 
 does she write her letters and things when she is 
 here with you?" 
 
 218
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "She always writes there," Peggy answered, 
 pointing to the table, "where you have been sitting." 
 
 "Look here," Collingwood said decisively, "when 
 she comes, leave her alone with me. I'll do what I 
 can. I'll tackle her. You had better not be here 
 at all." 
 
 "But, Colling, can't I help?" Peggy asked. "I 
 think I might be of use, though of course it will be 
 dreadfully unpleasant. But, for my own sake, I 
 must stick at nothing now." 
 
 "No, Peggy," he replied firmly. "I feel I can 
 manage this much better myself. Look here you 
 go out upon the terrace again. I will just come 
 with you and settle you in your chair how tired 
 you look! and then a mauvais quart d'heure for 
 Alice, if she ever had one in her life." 
 
 "But it may not be true after all," Peggy said, 
 as they walked together towards the long windows. 
 
 He shook his head at that. "It must be true," 
 he said; "no one else could have done it; and what 
 you have just told me, and what Dicky said, make 
 it conclusive to my mind." 
 
 They passed behind the curtains together, and 
 there was the sound of a chair being moved over 
 the tessellated floor. 
 
 219
 
 THE LAST CHAPTER 
 
 LADY ATTWILL was upstairs in her bedroom. 
 
 It was very large, and luxuriously furnished, with 
 Chippendale chairs and Adams ceiling, while the 
 walls were covered with a paper of white upon 
 which, here and there, tiny apple blossoms of pink 
 and grass-green were indicated. 
 
 Despite its size, the room felt close, and Alice 
 Attwill had thrown open all the windows to the 
 summer afternoon. 
 
 The cooler air, scented with flowers, poured into 
 the place, but she seemed to notice nothing of it. 
 
 She walked up and down the room with her 
 feline grace for this was natural to her, and no 
 careful pose or cultivated mannerism. Her lovely 
 head was bent a little forward as she walked, and 
 the hands which were clasped behind her slim waist 
 folded and unfolded themselves nervously. 
 
 The face itself was very white, the eyes glistened, 
 the lips twitched nervously, and there was about her 
 an atmosphere of terror. 
 
 She made it herself, this beautiful woman walking 
 up and down a beautiful room; but fear there was 
 
 220
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 in that quiet place, and it did not come in there from 
 the open windows, but radiated out from a guilty 
 mind and a wildly pulsating heart. Every now and 
 again, as she walked up and down, Alice Attwill 
 moistened her lips with her tongue and glanced at 
 the travelling-clock covered with red leather which 
 stood upon the mantlepiece. 
 
 At last she stopped with one thoughtful glance 
 at the clock. 
 
 "It'll be all right now," she said to herself. "I am 
 sure they must be beginning to suspect me. Fool 
 that I was! Why, every novel and almost every 
 play lias this question of the blotting-book in it. 
 It is such a simple device, and yet in real life how 
 often it does happen ! Here am I confronted with 
 the worst crisis in my whole life, simply because I 
 forgot the blotting-book." 
 
 Clenching her teeth she quietly left the room, de- 
 scended the wide Georgian stairs into the hall, and 
 opened the door of the drawing-room. 
 
 She peered cautiously into the room, now lit up 
 by clusters of electric lights. 
 
 Satisfied that no one was there, she closed the 
 door very quietly, and with silent, cat-like steps 
 walked up to the writing-table. 
 
 Again, as her hand fell upon the blotting-book, 
 she looked round in an agony of apprehension. 
 
 221
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Then, opening it hurriedly, she searched among the 
 leaves with a puzzled brow. 
 
 Some of the leaves were heavily blotted and no 
 writing upon them was wholly distinguishable, while 
 others only bore a few well-defined imprints. 
 
 Her slender, trembling fingers turned over the 
 leaves in an agony of anxiety, but either she was 
 too agitated or too inexperienced she was unable 
 to find what she sought. 
 
 Suddenly a thought came to her. 
 
 The mirror! yes, that was the thing. By the 
 aid of the mirror she would be able to identify the 
 sheet she wanted at once. She hurried up to the 
 fireplace. 
 
 Above it was an oval mirror framed in wood 
 which had been painted white, and, shaking ex- 
 ceedingly, hardly knowing what she did, she held 
 up the heavy blotter with the paper facing the mir- 
 ror, and slowly turned over the thick white sheets. 
 
 While she was doing this, with a perfectly livid 
 face, she heard the faint sound of an advancing foot- 
 step. 
 
 It was at the very moment when she thought she 
 had discovered what she wanted, and with twitching 
 fingers was about to tear it out from the book. 
 
 The sound of the step came from behind the 
 curtains which hung over the windows leading to 
 the terrace. 
 
 222
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Lady Attwill almost bounded back to the writing- 
 table and put down the blotter upon it. 
 
 She had hardly done so, and was actually closing 
 the book, when the curtains parted with a soft swish 
 and Collingwood came into the room. 
 
 He came in jauntily and easily enough, but there 
 was something in his face which made Alice Attwill 
 give a little startled gasp of alarm and despair. 
 
 "Writing letters, Alice ?" Collingwood said easily, 
 though there was a chill in his voice which sounded 
 like the note of doom in the miserable woman's ears. 
 
 "I have finished writing," she said, stammering 
 "just finished." 
 
 Collingwood came up to her without removing 
 his eyes from hers. He came slowly up, with a 
 steady, persistent stare, magnetic, horrible. 
 
 "Just got up from writing, eh? That's lucky!" 
 he said. "I want to have a talk with you, Alice 
 by the way, let me post your letters." 
 
 "Please don't trouble," she faltered. 
 
 "No trouble, I assure you," he answered, his 
 voice becoming more cold, dangerous, and menacing 
 than ever. "I assure you it is no trouble, Alice. 
 There can't even be a great weight of letters for me 
 to take to the post because, you see, Peggy and I 
 were here until about two minutes ago." 
 
 There was a revolving chair of green leather in 
 front of the writing-table. Lady Attwill sank into 
 
 223
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 it. She felt as if the whole room, with all its con- 
 tents, was spinning round her with horrible rapidity. 
 She sank into the chair, unable to stand longer ; but, 
 even as she did so, one last despairing gleam of hope 
 prompted her to make an effort to show that she was 
 still unconcerned and sitting down in a natural way. 
 
 "I hardly expected to see you here," she said in 
 a rather high, staccato voice, the words coming from 
 her one by one as if each separate word was pro- 
 duced with great difficulty. 
 
 "Indeed?" Collingwood asked. "And why not?" 
 
 The fact that she was sitting down, that she had 
 the arms of the chair to hold, that she was some- 
 where, seemed to give Alice Attwill more courage. 
 
 In a voice which was still tremulous, but in which 
 an ugly note of temper was beginning to displace 
 the abject indications of fear, she answered him. 
 
 She pushed her head a little forward, and her 
 eyes shone with malice. 
 
 "I should have thought that the revelations of this 
 afternoon would have " 
 
 Collingwood recognised the change of attitude in 
 a moment. 
 
 "Closed these doors to those who planned the trip 
 to Paris yes?" 
 
 "I was not thinking of the trip to Paris," she said. 
 
 Collingwood shrugged his shoulders. "Because 
 we were partners in that, of course," he replied. 
 
 224
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "Partners!" she cried shrilly. "I knew nothing 
 about it. It was you who gave the orders to the 
 porter and booked the rooms I don't come in any- 
 where!" 
 
 Collingwood folded his arms and stood with his 
 feet somewhat apart, looking down upon her with 
 a face which, in its contempt and strength, once 
 more drove her into an extremity of fear. 
 
 When he spoke again his voice had lost its bitter- 
 ness and contempt, but it had become harsh and im- 
 perative. It was the voice of a bullying counsel in 
 the courts the voice in which a low man speaks to 
 a servant. 
 
 "That is your game, is it?" he said. "You never 
 knew of the trip to Paris ?" 
 
 The woman was spurred up to answer. She met 
 his voice with one precisely in the same key; it was 
 a voice a succession of unfortunate lady's-maids 
 knew very well. 
 
 "Absolutely nohting," she said; "where as you 
 your guilt, my friend, is clear, transparently 
 clear." 
 
 She nodded two or three times to emphasise her 
 assertion, and by this time her composure had re- 
 turned to her and she was ready for anything. 
 
 Collingwood, who had been watching her with 
 the most intense scrutiny, had followed with perfect 
 clearness the changes in her voice and attitude. He 
 
 225
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 now knew where he was. The bluff was over, he 
 was about to play his hand. 
 
 More particularly than anything else his mind, 
 intensely alert and active at this supreme moment, 
 noticed that Alice Attwill had wheeled round upon 
 her chair and seemed in a most marked way to be 
 interposing herself between him and the writing- 
 table. 
 
 It was as though some precious possession lay 
 there of which she feared she would be robbed. 
 
 Feeling certain now of the woman's guilt, he said : 
 "Perhaps you are also going to suggest that I wrote 
 that dastardly letter?" 
 
 Lady Attwill sneered. "One of us obviously must 
 have written it," she said, "and your motive well, 
 it is pretty clear, isn't it?" 
 
 "And yours," he said "and isn't yours clear 
 also?" 
 
 "Do you think so?" she asked, with a toss of 
 her head. 
 
 He bent forward, gazing at her with an almost 
 deadly look of hate. 
 
 "Look here," he said: "don't you hope to marry 
 Admaston if Peggy loses this case?" 
 
 She was frightened obviously very frightened; 
 but she did her best to throw it off. 
 
 "My dear Colling," she said in a light and airy 
 manner, "you are so imbued with the remarkable 
 
 226
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 excellence of Sir Robert Fyffe's methods that you 
 are imitating him. But you are doing it so badly, 
 Colling so extremely badly !" 
 
 His face did not change in the slightest. It re- 
 mained as set and firm as before, absolutely unin- 
 fluenced by what she was saying. 
 
 "Isn't it true that you hope to marry George 
 Admaston?" he repeated in exactly the same tone. 
 
 She lifted her pretty left hand in the air and 
 snapped her fingers in a gesture full of mingled 
 insolence and provocation. 
 
 "Why should I satisfy your curiosity ?" she said. 
 
 Again the man, intent upon one great purpose, 
 absolutely not to be deterred from it or to be in- 
 fluenced in any way by what she was saying, re- 
 peated his query. 
 
 "How can you explain that letter?" he said, in 
 the insistent tone of a judge. "Who else could 
 have written it except you or me?" 
 
 Her eyelids fluttered. She looked up at him 
 quickly. "I don't attempt to explain it," she said; 
 "but I certainly agree with you that one of us must 
 have written it any fool can see that; but which 
 of us?" 
 
 She paused for a moment, and then looked him 
 straightly in the face, defiant and at bay at last. 
 
 "But which of us?" she repeated. "That's the 
 point upon which we shall differ, Colling." 
 
 227
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "I see," he said. "You mean that you will en- 
 deavour to father this cowardly trick upon me?" 
 
 Alice Attwill smiled bitterly. "The public will 
 judge," she said. "Ever since that night have I 
 not been in constant attendance here, her devoted 
 and trusted friend? while you I thought you had 
 been forbidden the house." 
 
 "That's a lie," Collingwood said sharply. 
 
 "It is quite unnecessary to become abusive," she 
 went on, her voice gaining confidence for a moment 
 and her manner becoming infinitely more assured. 
 "You are in a very tight corner, and the sooner you 
 recognise the fact the better it will be for you." 
 
 "You think you can threaten me?" Collingwood 
 asked quietly. 
 
 "I know my cards," she replied, "and what I can 
 do with them. You needn't try to bluff me, Colling, 
 for I know your cards too. Even if I did write that 
 letter how can you ever prove it? You can assert 
 it, but who will believe you you who stand con- 
 victed of decoying your friend's wife to Paris to 
 attempt her seduction? . . ." 
 
 He winced at that. Even in his present mood of 
 penitence and help, it was a palpable hit. 
 
 "With your assistance," he said, and that was all. 
 
 She pressed her momentary triumph. "So you 
 will assert," she said. . . . "But I shall deny it 
 and there is nothing but your word. It will be 
 
 228
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 suggested to you by Peggy's counsel, if not by 
 Admaston's that you wrote the letter which has 
 caused all the bother. You will try to put it on to 
 me " 
 
 He interrupted her quickly. "You will never dare 
 to deny it," he said in a voice of conviction. 
 
 "My dear, simple friend," she answered, "why 
 not? I loved George Admaston, as you have said. 
 Do you think I shall sacrifice myself and save you? 
 You can make your mind easy on that score. No, 
 my dear Colling, there is only one way out. To- 
 morrow your counsel will have to say that in the 
 face of the evidence to-day he can contest the case 
 no further. Then you will not go into the witness- 
 box." 
 
 "Not go into the witness-box?" he asked. 
 
 "Admaston will get his divorce," she went on in 
 a final voice, but one in which a note of conciliation 
 had crept. "You will marry Peggy I shall marry 
 Admaston and no one will know about the letters. 
 But if you dare to fight, you will leave the court 
 dishonoured. Peggy will never look at you. You 
 take my advice, Colling, and marry the girl you 
 love, and don't try to interfere with my plans, just 
 when victory is assured." 
 
 The note of conciliation in her voice stung every 
 fibre of decency, every sense of honour in him. He 
 raised his eyebrows in extreme contempt and sur- 
 
 229
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 prise. "You must have a pretty poor opinion of 
 me," he said. 
 
 "The highest, my dear Colling," she replied ; "but 
 the situation is just a little too big for you." 
 
 "We shall see," he answered. "You have been 
 very frank with me. I gather that you don't deny 
 your authorship of that infamous letter." 
 
 Her face, and indeed her whole manner, had by 
 now become almost indifferent. "I am not called 
 upon to deny anything that cannot be proved," she 
 said. "You have heard this afternoon that the 
 experts have entirely failed to identify the writing. 
 How did you manage to deceive them, Colling? 
 Still, I suppose it is not very difficult to trick a 
 handwriting expert." 
 
 "Don't be too disrespectful to experts yet, my lady. 
 I have a notion that a report I have just received 
 from an American expert may give you food for 
 thought. After all, if you hadn't been afraid of 
 these experts you wouldn't have written that second 
 letter three days ago." 
 
 She glared at him. "Well, what does your 
 Yankee say?" she asked. 
 
 "He has proved conclusively that I could not have 
 written the letter." 
 
 At that she jumped up from her seat, still keeping 
 herself between the writing-table and him. "What 
 do you mean?" she said. 
 
 230
 
 Collingwood dealt his trump card. "I mean," he 
 said, "that since you have finished writing your own 
 letters, you will have no objection to my writing 
 there for a moment." 
 
 His voice was so pregnant with meaning, so 
 fraught with decision, that Alice Attwill slunk away 
 from the table, trembling, as Collingwood seated 
 himself in the writing-chair. 
 
 "Writing what?" she asked almost in a whisper. 
 
 "A confession " he said. 
 
 "A confession?" 
 
 Which you will sign. I intend before I leave 
 this room to have from you a signed confession that 
 you wrote that letter." 
 
 "You are proposing to make a long stay," she 
 said, slowly and venomously. 
 
 Collingwood did not answer her at all. He took 
 a sheet of paper and wrote a few sentences upon it 
 in a firm, bold handwriting. 
 
 When he had finished he held it up to her. "Will 
 you read it through?" he said. 
 
 With the utmost carelessness she bent forward 
 over the writing-table. Her manner was that of 
 one who was reading some casual note. 
 
 "I have done so," she said at length. 
 
 Collingwood fell into her mood. "Now," he said, 
 "if I had your signature to that, par exemple, there
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 would be an end of Admaston versus Admaston and 
 Collingwood, wouldn't there?" 
 
 Alice Attwill smiled. "That is obvious enough," 
 she said. 
 
 Collingwood took the paper and opened the 
 blotting-book, while Lady Attwill walked towards 
 the fireplace. 
 
 She walked away with the same assumed air of 
 indifference, but, when she heard the heavy leather- 
 and-silver cover fall upon the table, she looked round 
 and watched the man intently. 
 
 She saw him blot the confession upon a blank 
 sheet at the beginning of the book, and then with 
 the utmost care and deliberation turn over each 
 separate leaf, scrutinising it like a man who looks 
 at something through a microscope. 
 
 Suddenly one page seemed to strike his attention. 
 He smoothed it out, pulled the blotter closer towards 
 him, and took from his pocket photographs of the 
 famous letters in the case. 
 
 He put one of the photographs upon a leaf of the 
 blotter and compared them carefully. Then he took 
 a small glass from his pocket and examined the 
 photograph and the page of the blotter with that. 
 
 When he had, apparently, satisfied himself, he 
 looked round with a white, stern face to where the 
 defiant but trembling woman was standing by the 
 fireplace. 
 
 232
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 There was a silence for a moment. It was broken 
 by Lady Attwill saying, "Can I do anything for 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes," Collingwood replied; "you can bring me 
 that looking-glass from that small table there." 
 
 She looked at him without saying a word. 
 
 "You don't seem very eager," he said. "But 
 there is an excellent mirror over the fireplace.'" , 
 
 At that, as if hypnotised, she went up to the little 
 table by the piano and took up a small Italian mirror 
 framed in ivory and silver. 
 
 She gave it to him. "Well," she asked, "have 
 you solved the mystery?" 
 
 "Wait!" he replied. He took the mirror in one 
 hand, propping up the blotter with its back towards 
 him, and looking intently into the glass. 
 
 After a moment or two he looked up. "You 
 should be more careful where you blot your letters," 
 he said simply. "You will notice that the impres- 
 sion upon the blotting-paper is not complete 
 though they obviously tally." 
 
 Speechless with terror, she made a sudden snatch 
 at the sheet in the blotter which she had already 
 begun to tear out when his entrance disturbed her. 
 
 He caught her by the wrist. "No," he said, very 
 quietly and sternly. "I thought you would do that. 
 I saw you trying to do it when I came in just now. 
 Now, look here look at the photograph and at the 
 
 233
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 representation of your writing in the mirror. Have 
 you any doubt that the impression upon the blotting- 
 paper is the impression made by the blotting of that 
 letter?" 
 
 "And if it is," she said, in one last faint effort, 
 "what does that prove? Why should not you have 
 written it and blotted it?" 
 
 "Because, my dear Alice," he replied, "I have not 
 been in this house until this afternoon for six 
 months. Listen! To-day the judge dropped a re- 
 mark about the importance of finding the paper on 
 which this letter was blotted. You alone knew where 
 it was. Very well, in the sequence of events, Pauline 
 found you here the first moment the room was 
 empty with a cock-and-bull story about your bag. 
 A few minutes later I, having heard this from Paul- 
 ine, find you in the act of destroying this damning 
 evidence see, it's half torn out already. Come, the 
 game's up." 
 
 Aristocrat as she was, something low, vulgar, and 
 malignantly mocking came out upon Lady Attwill's 
 face as Collingwood said this. 
 
 "Is it?" she said. "Do you think I am afraid of 
 you and your game of bluff? You have forgotten 
 the important link in your chain. How do you ex- 
 plain the discrepancy in the writing? That writing 
 is not mine." 
 
 "Isn't it?" he asked quietly. 
 234
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 "No !" she almost shouted. "A pretty conspiracy ! 
 to damn me and save Peggy Admaston. Why 
 shouldn't Pauline have written it?" 
 
 Up to this he had listened to her with some pa- 
 tience. Now his face blazed at her for a moment. 
 He sat down in the writing-chair, pulling it up to 
 the table as he did so. "I'll show you," he said. 
 "Sit down there." 
 
 She looked at him defiantly. 
 
 "Sit down there," he said again, and she did so. 
 "Now take the pen and write what I dictate," he 
 went on. 
 
 He began to dictate. " 'Please destroy the other 
 letter 
 
 He leant over the table, tapping gently upon it 
 with his knuckles. 
 
 "No ! the other hand, please," he said. 
 
 The woman almost fell over the table. 
 
 "With my left hand?" she gasped. "What on 
 earth do you mean? I can't write with my left 
 hand." 
 
 "My expert thinks you can," he said sternly. 
 "Come write; or would you prefer to write to- 
 morrow in court?" 
 
 She jumped up, and hysteria mastered her. 
 
 "I won't write!" she cried, in a voice which was 
 hardly human. "Neither here nor in court! You 
 can't make me . . . the judge can't make me!" 
 
 235
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Collingwood punctuated her shrill remarks with 
 gentle taps of his firm hand upon the table. "You 
 shall write to-morrow with all London looking on ; 
 they'll know I could not have done it this book 
 shows that. They'll hear how you tried to tear out 
 the page." 
 
 "They won't believe you !" she gasped. 
 
 "They'll believe the evidence of Pauline," he 
 went on calmly. "They'll hear from Peggy how 
 you broke your arm and learnt to use your left hand. 
 Every newspaper in England will be full of it. This 
 is not the first time you've written with your left 
 hand ; there'll be other specimens somewhere some 
 other witness will be forthcoming. You have been 
 very clever, but the cleverest of people like you 
 bungle in the end. You've got to do it, Alice!" 
 
 Once more she sank down in the chair. 
 
 Her face was ghastly. "No!" was all that she 
 could say. 
 
 "Believe me," he went on more calmly and more 
 kindly "believe me, you had better write now! 
 Society may never know Admaston may be gen- 
 erous. Come! Write! And do it quickly." 
 
 Absolutely broken and submissive, Lady Attwill 
 took up the pen in her left hand and began to write 
 to Collingwood's dictation. 
 
 ' 'Please destroy the other letter . . .' " he began. 
 
 She wrote the first word, and then looked up at 
 236
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 him with a face which was a white wedge of 
 hate. 
 
 "Quickly, please," he said, tapping his foot upon 
 the carpet. "Now, or to-morrow with all London." 
 
 The wretched woman bent down once more to 
 her shameful task. 
 
 ' *. . . and this,' " he went on, " 'and save an old 
 servant who honours the family . . .' ' 
 
 Again she looked up at him. 
 
 "Quickly!" he said imperatively, rapping his 
 knuckles upon the table. "Quickly ! or 
 
 Cowed and subdued, she wrote again. " *. . . 
 from the anger of Mrs. Admaston,' " came the cool, 
 dictating voice. 
 
 She finished, and as she did so her head fell upon 
 her arms and she burst into a fit of hysterical sobs 
 shaking, convulsed, in a terrible downfall of re- 
 morse and shame. 
 
 Suddenly as Collingwood held the precious 
 paper in his hand and looked with a certain com- 
 passion at his old friend and companion of so many 
 years, whom he had tortured so dreadfully a high, 
 joyous voice burst into the room. 
 
 It was Peggy calling. 
 
 The curtains which led to the terrace were pulled 
 aside and she ran into the drawing-room. 
 
 Her face was radiant. 
 
 "Colling! Colling!" she cried. "George is 
 
 237
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 here!" She hurried up to Collingwood, looking 
 for a moment rather strangely at Alice Attwill. 
 
 George Admaston, big, burly, and with all the 
 weariness of the past weeks sponged and smoothed 
 from his face, followed her into the drawing-room. 
 
 "Hullo, Colling," he said rather shyly, but with 
 real geniality in his voice. 
 
 Collingwood ignored the outstretched hand. 
 "Wait first, please," he said. "Lady Attwill has 
 written you another copy of the letter she wrote 
 three days ago." He handed the confession to 
 Admaston. 
 
 There was a dead silence in the room as Admas- 
 ton scrutinised the confession. 
 
 Then he went up to Lady Attwill, crouching 
 over the table as she was, and put his hand not un- 
 kindly on her shoulder. "Good God!" he said. 
 "Alice why did you?" 
 
 A lovely tear-stained face looked up into the room. 
 
 A broken and unhappy voice sobbed out into the 
 silence, "Let me go; let me go, I say!" 
 
 Admaston gently removed his hand. There was 
 a swish of skirts, one deep sob, and then the door 
 closed behind Alice Attwill. 
 
 Peggy went up to her husband and clung lov- 
 ingly to his arm. 
 
 She looked at Collingwood. "Colling," she said, 
 "how on earth did you find out?" 
 
 238
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 Collmgwood pointed to the blotter. "Look there," 
 he said. 
 
 Peggy and Admaston, still clinging together, 
 went up to the writing-table and stared as if fas- 
 cinated at the fatal and decisive page. 
 
 "Poor Alice!" Collingwood said. "I suppose it 
 is because I have been a bit of a blackguard myself 
 that I can't help feeling sorry for her. Perhaps, 
 Admaston, you will find it in your heart, when the 
 great case is withdrawn to-morrow, to let her down 
 as lightly as possible." 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, and then he said in 
 a quiet voice, "I think in her heart she really loved 
 you, don't you know." 
 
 Admaston nodded. 
 
 "Yes, yes ; I see," he said. "I will do what I can." 
 
 Collingwood, realising that he had been emotional, 
 pulled himself together with immense aplomb. "It 
 must be a comforting and flattering reflection that, 
 but for the fit of nerves which caused Alice to write 
 that second letter three days ago, there is probably 
 not a judge nor jury in the world which would have 
 refused to make you miserable for life, Admaston." 
 
 "You are right, Colling," he said; "but at the 
 moment when no judge nor jury would have 
 doubted her guilt then, for the first time, I knew 
 in my heart she was innocent." 
 
 Collingwood had listened to this, but had also 
 
 239
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 been moving slowly towards the door of the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 "But you, Colling " Peggy said. 
 
 Collingwood's hand was upon the door. "Never 
 mind about me," he said. "Peggy, I did a rotten 
 thing because I cared for you, but I've tried to play 
 the game since for the same reason; and if George 
 can really forgive me for just the same reason " 
 
 He stopped, looking with a wan, pathetic, but 
 very tender face at the two who stood there clinging 
 to each other. 
 
 Peggy looked up into her husband's face. 
 "George!" she said quietly. 
 
 " I think I'll go on playing it," Collingwood 
 ended. 
 
 Admaston did not look at Collingwood, but he 
 looked down at his wife. Then he lifted his head 
 and smiled with a sort of grave kindness at the man 
 by the door. 
 
 "I think I can forgive you anything to-day, 
 Colling," he said. 
 
 Collingwood half turned the handle. "Good-bye, 
 then, little Butterfly," he said, and there was a 
 dreadful pain in his voice. 
 
 Peggy looked up into her husband's face. 
 
 What she saw there satisfied her. 
 
 She left him and walked shyly towards Colling- 
 wood and held out her hand. 
 
 240
 
 "He caught her in his arms in his strong arms."
 
 A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 
 He took it, bowed over it as if to kiss it, refrained, 
 and then opened the door. 
 
 "Your wings are not really broken not really," 
 he said in a voice which was absolutely broken. 
 
 There was a sound of the soft closing of a door 
 a little click as it fell into place. 
 
 Peggy ran back to her husband and put her hands 
 upon his shoulders. 
 
 "My husband!" she said. 
 
 He caught her in his arms in his strong arms. 
 
 "Little Peggy!" he answered. 
 
 "George !" she said. "I have wanted you so !" 
 
 But both Mr. Roderick Collingwood and Lady 
 Alice Attwill dined alone with their thoughts that 
 night 
 
 THE END 
 
 241
 
 UCSOOT- .... ,,.||