hands. She had seen men's
hands tremble many times.

"Our little home," she said, as she sat down at the table. "My desert
dream realized. I'm so happy!"

"Why did you do it?" Michael cried passionately.

Millicent still mistook the nature of his emotion. She leaned across the
table. "Don't ask, dearest--just rest and be content. Hand me the
sardines, like a dear man."

Michael handed her the sardines. How could he just rest and be content?
If he did, he would allow himself to drift into the woman's mood, he
would be enjoying himself at the cost of his loyalty to Margaret. He
would be drowning "the clear voice" with Moselle cup and smothering it
with galantine of chicken and pigeon-pie.

"I want you to promise me," Millicent said, "just to eat this one meal
happily with me, eat and forget. For half an hour or more don't ask me
any questions and don't scold!" She handed Michael an olive in her
fingers. "Open," she said. "They're so good."

Michael opened his mouth, but he took the olive from her fingers into his
own.

"Will you do what I ask?" she said. "If you will, I'll promise to listen
to you afterwards. Your conscience is an awful bore, Michael."

"I'm an awful bore apart from my conscience. It's simply your impish
persistence that makes you desire my society. It can't be anything else."

"Perhaps it is," Millicent said. "All the same, will you promise?"

"Very well," Michael said. "That's a bargain. I promise."

"For this one meal you'll be like you used to be?"

"What was that?" he asked. Her words annoyed him.

"Mine," she said. "Mine and not Margaret Lampton's."

Michael put down his knife and fork and looked straight into the eyes of
the woman opposite him.

"I am Margaret Lampton's," he said, "and you'd better know it. I'm
Margaret Lampton's, body and soul." He flung her hand away.

Millicent gave a suggestive whistle. "Wh-o-o!" she said, with a low
laugh. "So that's it?"

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Nothing--I didn't say anything, did I? Oh, don't let's quarrel--let's
enjoy our lunch."

"Very well," he said. "Let's, for time's flying. But it's best for you
to know that I'm Margaret's."

"Never mind--lend yourself to me for a few days. Surely she won't mind
if we amuse ourselves in the desert?"

"I'm not going to lend myself to you," he said. "What nonsense you talk!
You're going back the way you came. You can play with someone else."

"You dear sill