I dislike him, he
has, of course, a certain claim upon my acquaintance. I have made
excuses once or twice. Last night was the first time I have ever been
out anywhere with him. I do not of course pretend to be in the least
conventional--I have always permitted myself the utmost liberty of
action. Yet--I had wanted so much to know you--I was afraid of
prejudicing you.... After all, you see, I have no explanation. It was
just an impulse. I have hated myself for it; but it is done!"

"It was," he said, "a trifle of no importance. We will forget it."

A gleam of gratitude shone in her dark eyes. Her head drooped a
little. He fancied that her voice was not quite so steady.

"It is good," she said, "to hear you say that."

He looked around the room, and back into her face. Some dim
foreknowledge of what was to come between them seemed to flash before
his eyes. It was like a sudden glimpse into that unseen world so close
at hand, in which he--that Roman noble--had at any rate implicitly
believed. There was a faint smile upon his face as his eyes met hers.

"At least," he said, "I shall be able to come and talk with you now at
the railing, instead of watching you from my chair. For you were quite
right in what you said just now. I have watched for you every day--for
many days."

"You will be able to come," she said gravely, "if you care to. You mix
so little with the men who love to talk scandal of a woman, that you
may never have heard them--talk of me. But they do, I know! I hear all
about it--it used to amuse me! You have the reputation of ultra
exclusiveness! If you and I are known to be friends, you may have to
risk losing it."

His brows were slightly contracted, and he had half closed his eyes--a
habit of his when anything was said which offended his taste.

"I wonder whether you would mind not talking like that," he said.

"Why not? I would not have you hear these things from other people. It
is best to be truthful, is it not? To run no risk of any
misunderstandings."

"There is no fear of anything of that sort," he said calmly. "I do not
pretend to be a magician or a diviner, yet I think I know you for what
you are, and it is sufficient. Some day----"

He broke off in the middle of a sentence. The door had opened. A man
stood upon the threshold. The servant announced him--Mr. Thorndyke.

Matravers rose at once to his feet. He had a habit--the outcome,
doubtless, of his epicurean tenets, of leaving at onc