lt no immediate desire to
touch her. He came over and stood opposite her on the hearthrug, his
hands in his pockets.

"What have you been through?" he asked abruptly. "I've been through
hell."

"So I imagined," she said drily. "I can't say I've been through hell.
I've grown too philosophical for that! I have thought as little as
possible. I left it on the knees of the gods."

There certainly was neither despair nor doubt in that vital voice of
hers as she looked at him, and she was smiling. He twitched his
shoulders under those understanding eyes and turned his own to the fire
with a frown.

"I don't believe you had a moment of misgiving. You were too sure of
me."

"Oh, no, I was not! I know life too well to be sure of anything, mon
ami. Unlike that nice Vane boy, you have imagination and I gave you
some hard swallowing. Poor boy, I'm afraid you've been choking ever
since----"

"Don't 'poor boy' me. I won't have it. I feel a thousand years old."
He glared at her once more. "You are sure of me now--and quite
right . . . but I don't feel in the least like kissing you. . . . I've
barely slept and I feel like the devil."

For the first time in many days she felt an inclination to throw back
her head and give vent to a joyous laugh--joyous but amused, for she
would always be Mary Zattiany. But she merely said: "My dear Lee, I
could not stand being made love to at four in the afternoon. It is not
aesthetic. Suppose we sit down. Tell me all about it."

"I'll not tell you a thing." But he took the chair and lit a
cigarette. "I'm more in love with you than ever, if you want to know.
When will you marry me?"

"Shall we say two months from today?"

"Two months! Why not tomorrow?"

"Oh, hardly. In the first place I'd like it all to be quite perfect,
and I'd dreamed of spending our honeymoon in the Dolomites. I've a
shooting box there on the shore of a wonderful lake. I used to stay
there quite alone after my guests had left. . . . And then--well, it
would hardly be fair to give New York two shocks in succession. They
all take for granted I'll marry some one--I am already engaged to Mr.
Osborne, although I have heard you alluded to meaningly--but better let
them talk the first sensation to rags. . . . They will be angry enough
with me for marrying a young man, but perhaps too relieved that I have
not carried off one of their own sons. . . . Polly is in agonies at
the present moment . . .