ed forever any ordinary woman to have married Howard
Spence."

A new method of wooing, surely, and evidently peculiar to Trixton Brent.
Honora, in the prey of emotions which he had aroused in spite of her,
needless to say did not, at that moment, perceive the humour in it. His
words gave her food for thought for many months afterwards.

The lion was indeed aroused at last, and whip or goad or wile of no
avail. There came a time when she no longer knew what he was saying: when
speech, though eloquent and forceful, seemed a useless medium. Her
appeals were lost, and she found herself fighting in his arms, when
suddenly they turned into one of the crowded arteries of Harlem. She made
a supreme effort of will, and he released her.

"Oh!" she cried, trembling.

But he looked at her, unrepentant, with the light of triumph in his eyes.

"I'll never forgive you!" she exclaimed, breathless.

"I gloried in it," he replied. "I shall remember it as long as I live,
and I'll do it again."

She did not answer him. She dropped her veil, and for a long space was
silent while they rapidly threaded the traffic, and at length turned into
upper Fifth Avenue, skirting the Park. She did not so much as glance at
him. But he seemed content to watch her veiled profile in the dusk.

Her breath, in the first tumult of her thought, came and went deeply. But
gradually as the street lights burned brighter and familiar sights began
to appear, she grew more controlled and became capable of reflection. She
remembered that there was a train for Quicksands at seven-fifteen, which
Howard had taken once or twice. But she felt that the interval was too
short. In that brief period she could not calm herself sufficiently to
face her guests. Indeed, the notion of appearing alone, or with Brent, at
that dinner-party, appalled her. And suddenly an idea presented itself.

Brent leaned over, and began to direct the chauffeur to a well-known
hotel. She interrupted him.

"No," she said, "I'd rather go to the Holland House."

"Very well," he said amicably, not a little surprised at this
unlooked-for acquiescence, and then told his man to keep straight on down
the Avenue.

She began mechanically to rearrange her hat and veil; and after that,
sitting upright, to watch the cross streets with feverish anticipation,
her hands in her lap.

"Honora?" he said.

She did not answer.

"Raise the veil, just for a moment, and look at me."

She shook her head. B