brittle
clay?

He was still the gallant, high-born, well-bred gentleman whom she had
always known; he was on the eve of fighting for his King and country,
ready to give his life for the same cause which she loved so ardently;
he was even now speaking tender words of love and of farewell. Yet she
was out of tune with him. His words of Love almost irritated her, for
they dragged her out of that delicious dream-like torpor which
momentarily peopled the world for her with gold-headed, white-winged
mysterious angels, and filled the air with soft murmurings and sweet
sounds, and a divine fragrance that was not of this earth.

It must have been that she grew very sleepy--probably the heat weighed
her eyelids down--certainly she found it impossible to keep her eyes
open, and Maurice apparently thought that she felt faint. Always in the
same vague way she heard him making suggestions for her comfort: "Could
he get her some wine?" or "Should he try and find Madame la Duchesse?"

Then she realised how she longed for a little rest, for perfect
solitude, for perfect freedom to give herself over to the sweet torpor
which paralysed her brain and limbs--tired, sleepy, or under the subtle
influence of some mysterious agency--she did not know which she was; but
she did know that she would have given everything she could at this
moment for a few minutes' complete solitude.

So she contrived to smile and to look up almost gaily into Maurice's
anxious face: "I think really, Maurice," she said, "I am just a little
bit sleepy. If I could remain alone for five minutes, I would go
honestly to sleep and not be ashamed of myself. Could you . . . could
you just leave me for five or ten minutes? . . . and . . . and, Maurice,
will you draw that screen a little nearer? . . ." she added, affecting a
little yawn; "nobody can see me then . . . and really, really I shall be
all right . . . if I could have a few minutes' quiet sleep."

"You shall, Crystal, of course you shall," said Maurice, eager and
anxious to do all that she wanted. He arranged a cushion behind her
head, put a footstool to her feet and pulled the screen forward so that
now--where she sat--no one could see her from the ballroom, and as in
response to repeated encores from the dancers, the orchestra had
embarked upon a new waltz, she was not likely to be disturbed.

"I'll try and find Mme. la Duchesse," he said after he had assured
himself that she was quite comfortable, "and tell