od night."

Mizzi, with a stifled laugh, kissed him lightly in return, freed herself
and escaped. Lionel, his sleepiness a thing of the past, sat down on the
bed.

"Dash it!" he thought, wagging his head, "I oughtn't to have done
that ... but it was exceedingly pleasant ... exceedingly pleasant ... yet
I ought not to have yielded to temptation, for I was under the vague
impression that I was in love with the maid's mistress. If so, I was
disloyal, a creature of no account. Let us see whether there is not
something to be said for the defense....

"Suppose I do love her--the mistress, I mean--I must not kiss her,
because she is married. Doubtless it would be a fine thing to be loyal
to the husband, the lady and the ideal--in short, neither kiss her nor
any one else. In a word, become a sort of grass-bachelor.... A hard
matter, for I am not cast in the ascetic mold, and Mizzi's lips are
devilish tempting.... Suppose, now, the husband died (and I regret that
I can not regard this contingency with disgust) and there were at least
a sporting chance of my stepping into his shoes--oh! of course not at
once, but later--later--why, then I could face permanent loyalty and
temporary asceticism with a light heart.... But to go through the world
refusing all sweets because my favorite sweet has been appropriated,
surely that were foolish.

"Again, am I in love with her? Can one fall in love so suddenly, outside
the realm of fiction? Is there not a great truth in the popular ballad
that treats of 'a tiny seed of love'? Surely love is a seed, planted by
chance or design--for example, by a match-making mama? The seed needs
opportunity for gradual growth--the sun of frequent intercourse--the
rain of timely separation--the fertilizer of presents of flowers and
bonbons--before it can grow to a splendid harvest.... This harvest of
mine can not be love; it must be passion. If so, it must be crushed....
She is too perfect to sully even in thought."

His brow grew gloomy, and he paced the room with feverish steps.

"No!" he said presently, "I feel pretty sure it is not passion pure and
simple--or impure and complex if you like. Critics may sneer, but I can
not help thinking it may soon be love, if it is not that already.
Wherefore, I had better fly to do her errands as soon as possible....
But I can not accept the ascetic ideal ... yet. Hypothetical Mizzis may
cross my path, and if they do I feel sure I shall kiss them, but the
moment I