put that advertisement in the paper?" Ruff asked, with
smooth but swift directness.

She was not quick enough to parry his question. He read the truth in her
disconcerted face. Knowing it now for a certainty, he hastened to her
aid.

"Forgive me," he said, looking away. "I should not have asked that
question--it is not my business. I will write to Fitzgerald. I will tell
him that you want to see him, and that I think it would be safe for him
to come to London."

Maud recovered herself quickly. She thanked him with her eyes as well as
her words.

"And you needn't be jealous, really," she whispered behind her fan. "I
only want to see him once for a few minutes--to ask a question. After
that, I don't care what becomes of him."

A poor sort of Delilah, really, with her flushed face, her too
elaborately coiffured hair with its ugly ornament, her ready-made
evening dress with its cheap attempts at smartness, her cleaned gloves,
indifferent shoes. But Peter Ruff thought otherwise.

"You mean that, after I have found him for you, you will still come out
with me again sometimes?" he asked wistfully.

"Of course!" she answered. "Whenever I can without John knowing," she
added, with an unpleasant little laugh. "If you only knew how I loved
the music and the theatres, and this sort of life! What a good time your
wife would have, Mr. Ruff!" she added archly.

It was no joking matter with him. He had to remember that he was, in
effect, her tool, that she was making use of him, willing to betray her
former lover at her husband's bidding. It was enough to make him, on
his side, burn for revenge! Yet he put the thought away from him with
a shiver. She was still the woman he had loved--she was still sacred to
him! That night he pleaded an engagement, and sent her home in a taxicab
alone.

John Dory, waiting patiently at home for his wife's return, felt a
certain uneasiness when she swept into their little sitting room in all
her cheap splendour, with flushed cheeks--an obvious air of satisfaction
with herself and disdain for her immediate surroundings. John Dory was
a commonplace looking man--the absence of his collar, and his somewhat
shabby carpet slippers, did not improve his appearance. He had
neglected to shave, and he was drinking beer. At headquarters he was not
considered quite the smart young officer which he had once shown signs
of becoming. He looked at his wife with darkening face, and his wife, on
her part, thoug