tragedy of Rosamond's poverty that she could not
afford as many taxicabs as she needed. She went about a good deal, and
she found it necessary to go about economically. Left to herself, she
would have taken the tube to Dover Street and then stepped across the
road. But Elton's expensive motor-car, after taking Grace to the
Halwards', went on to South Kensington to fetch Rosamond.

She was grateful, as she always was. "I often wonder," she said
plaintively, "why everybody is so good to me--you especially."

"I am by no means certain that I am good to you. I spoke to you on the
telephone this afternoon."

"Not now, no," said Rosamond firmly.

She was quite right. You cannot discuss the sweet and secret sinfulness
of your heart when the waiter is handing you the entree. Possibly Elton
also recognised this. But his next remark was rather brutal.

"You have never told me about the man in China. Tell me now."

Rosamond answered in French. There were no waiters near at the moment to
overhear her. If there had been, they all understood French perfectly.
But to Rosamond, French had always given a feeling of security. Her
story was brief and simple. She had married at eighteen. It had been a
girl's infatuation, and it had lasted just two years. No, there had
never been any actual break between them. He had to take up this post in
China. They were too poor for him to refuse it. It brought him five
hundred a year.

"Out of which," said Elton, "he sends you a measly hundred."

"He knows I have some means of my own. Oh no, we have never quarrelled.
It is just that the thing died. I should be sorry for his death, as I
should be for the death of any old companion--nothing more than that. He
would regard my death in the same way. There is no longer any love
between us. He sends me four rather formal letters every year, and I
send him four replies, telling him about London theatres and so on. It's
funny, isn't it? But, my God!" (It did not sound so strong in French.)

"I do not think," said Elton slowly, "that you were meant to spend your
years without love."

"No? How do you know?"

Elton smiled. "Do you know the eyes of women who do without love and do
not need it? They are the eyes of a business-like fish. Your eyes are
not like that."

She leant a little forward over the small table. "Look into them," she
said, "and tell me what you read there."

"Don't do that. Do you want to drive me mad?"

"Yes--sometimes."

"W