him?' asked Madame Bonanni, turning to
Margaret.

'No, I don't wonder in the least,' answered the young girl, with such
decision that Lushington looked up suddenly, as if to thank her.

The ordeal was over at last, and the prima donna rose with a yawn of
satisfaction.

'I am going to turn you out,' she said. 'You know I cannot live without
my nap.'

She kissed Margaret first, and then her son, each on both cheeks, but
it was clear that she could hardly keep her eyes open, and she left
Margaret and Lushington standing together, exactly as she had left the
young girl with Logotheti on the first occasion.

Their eyes met for an instant and then Lushington got his hat and stick
and opened the door for Margaret to go out.

'Shall I call a cab for you?' he asked.

'No, thank you. I'll walk a little way first, and then drive to the
station.'

When they were in the street, Lushington stood still.

'You believe that it was an accident, don't you?' he asked. 'I mean my
coming to-day.'

'Of course! Shall we walk on?'

He could not refuse, and he felt that he was not standing by his
resolution; yet the circumstances were changed, since she now knew his
secret, and was warned.

They had gone twenty steps before she spoke.

'You might have trusted me,' she said.

'I should think you would understand why I did not tell you,' he
answered rather bitterly.

She opened her parasol so impatiently that it made an ominous little
noise as if it were cracking.

'I do understand,' she said, almost harshly, as she held it up against
the sun.

'And yet you complain because I did not tell you,' said Lushington in a
puzzled tone.

'It's you who don't understand!' Margaret retorted.

'No. I don't.'

'I'm sorry.'

They went on a little way in silence, walking rather slowly. She was
angry with herself for being irritated by him, just when she admired
him more than ever before, and perhaps loved him better; though love
has nothing to do with admiration except to kindle it sometimes, just
when it is least deserved. Now it takes generous people longer to
recover from a fit of anger against themselves than against their
neighbours, and in a few moments Margaret began to feel very unhappy,
though all her original irritation against Lushington had subsided. She
now wished, in her contrition, that he would say something
disagreeable; but he did not. He merely changed the subject, speaking
quite naturally.

'So it is all decid