ducation, Bela," said Klara, with an insinuating
smile, "it must be odiously dull. You would far rather have had a game
of cards, wouldn't you now?"

"I would far rather have had you at that infernal dance, so as to have
had somebody to talk to," he retorted savagely.

"Oh!" she said demurely, "that would never have done. Elsa must have
such a lot to say to you herself. It would not be seemly for me to stand
in the way."

"Elsa, as you know, has that silly csardas on the brain. She has been
dancing ever since six o'clock and has only given me about ten minutes
of her company. She seems to belong to-night to every young fool that
can dance, rather than to me."

"Ah well! When you are married you can stop all that, my good Bela. You
can forbid your wife to dance the csardas, you know. I know many men who
do it. Then Elsa will learn to appreciate the pleasure of your
conversation. Though she is no longer very young, she is still very
ignorant. You will have to educate her . . . bring her up to your own
level of intelligence and of learning. In the meanwhile, do sit down and
drink with those who, like yourself, have come here for an hour or two
to break the monotony of perpetual czigany music and dancing."

She busied herself with drawing the corks of a number of bottles, which
she then transferred from the end of the room where she stood to the
tables at which sat her customers; she also brought out some fresh
glasses. Bela watched her for a moment or two in silence, unconscious of
the fact that he, too, was being watched by a pair of pale eyes in which
lurked a gleam of jealousy and of hate. Suddenly, as Klara brushed past
him carrying bottles and glasses, he took hold of her by the elbow and
drew her close to him.

"These louts won't stay late to-night, will they?" he whispered in her
ear.

"No, not late," she replied; "they will go on to the barn in time for
the supper, you may be sure of that. Why do you ask?"

"I will have the supper served at ten o'clock," he continued to whisper,
"but I'll not sit down to it. Not without you."

"Don't be foolish, Bela," she retorted. But even as he spoke, a little
gleam of satisfaction, of gratified vanity, of anticipatory revenge,
shot through her velvety dark eyes.

"I warned Elsa," he continued sullenly; "I told her that if you were not
at the feast, I should not be there either. She has disobeyed me. I must
punish her."

"So?" she rejoined, with an acid smile. "It