r to reach another she was practising infinite cruelty on this
man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her) did not appeal to her pity.
But her arrow flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared no result
to her archery in malice. Not once had the intended victim looked over to
where she sat. And yet she knew that he must be watching; he could not
possibly avoid it and be human. And when he finally came forward to take
his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen.

"You take two lumps?" she asked sweetly. It was only a chance shot, but
she hit on the truth.

"And you remember?" excitedly.

"One lump for mine, please," said Courtlandt, smiling.

She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped it into his cup. She had the air
of one wishing it were poison. The recipient of this good will, with
perfect understanding, returned to the divan, where the padre and Harrigan
were gravely toasting each other with Benedictine.

Nora made no mistake with either Abbott's cup or the Barone's; but the two
men were filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen out of the
window. What had begun as a beautiful day was now becoming black and
uncertain.

The Barone could control every feature save his eyes, and these openly
admitted deep anger. He recollected Herr Rosen well enough. The encounter
over at Cadenabbia was not the first by many. Herr Rosen! His presence in
this room under that name was an insult, and he intended to call the
interloper to account the very first opportunity he found.

Perhaps Celeste, sitting as quiet as a mouse upon the piano-stool, was the
only one who saw these strange currents drifting dangerously about. That
her own heart ached miserably did not prevent her from observing things
with all her usual keenness. Ah, Nora, Nora, who have everything to give
and yet give nothing, why do you play so heartless a game? Why hurt those
who can no more help loving you than the earth can help whirling around
the calm dispassionate sun? Always they turn to you, while I, who have so
much to give, am given nothing! She set down her tea-cup and began the
aria from _La Boheme_.

Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly found emptiness in
everything.

"Sing!" said Herr Rosen.

"I am too tired. Some other time."

He did not press her. Instead, he whispered in his own tongue: "You are
the most adorable woman in the world!"

And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes blank with astonishment. It was as
though she had