e moment the words
passed my lips I regretted them.

She turned a terrified look on me and seized me by the arms.

"Is it as bad as that? Why haven't you told me?"

I lifted my arms to her shoulders and shook my head and smiled into her
eyes. They seemed true, honest eyes, with a world of pain behind them.
If I had not regarded myself as the gentleman in the Greek Tragedy
walking straight to my certain doom, and therefore holding myself aloof
from such vain things, I should have yielded to the temptation and
kissed her there and then. And then goodness knows what would have
happened.

As it was it was bad enough. For, as we stood holding on to each other's
shoulders in a ridiculous and compromising attitude, the door opened
and Dale Kynnersley burst, unannounced, into the room. He paused on the
threshold and gaped at us, open-mouthed.

CHAPTER IX

We sprang apart, for all the world like a guilty pair surprised. Luckily
the room was in its normal dim state of illumination, so that to one
suddenly entering, the expression on our faces was not clearly visible;
on the other hand, the subdued light gave a romantic setting to the
abominable situation.

Lola saved it, however. She rushed to Dale.

"Do you know what Mr. de Gex was just telling me? His illness--it is
worse than any one thought. It's incurable. He can't live long; he must
die soon. It's dreadful--dreadful! Did you know it?"

Dale looked from her to me, and after a slight pause, came forward.

"Is this true, Simon?"

A plague on the woman for catching me in the trap! Before Dale came in
I was on the point of putting an airy construction on my indiscreet
speech. I had no desire to discuss my longevity with any one. I want
to keep my miserable secret to myself. It was exasperating to have
to entrust it even to Dale. And yet, if I repudiated her implied
explanation of our apparent embrace it would have put her hopelessly in
the wrong. I had to support her.

"It's what the doctors say," I replied, "but whether it's true or not is
another matter."

Again he looked queerly from me to Lola and from Lola back to me. His
first impression of our attitude had been a shock from which he found it
difficult to recover. I smiled, and, although perfectly innocent, felt a
villain.

"Madame Brandt is good enough to be soft-hearted and to take a tragic
view of a most commonplace contingency."

"But it isn't commonplace. By God, it's horrible!" cried the boy,