e affair after all.

"Must! I don't think I shall ever let you go again!"

He tightened his clasp. She looked up into his face with beseeching
eyes.

"Do take away your arm, please, Hubert! I want to talk to you, and I
cannot if it is there."

"Then we will leave it there. I don't think I want to talk, darling. I
am very tired--I think I must have walked miles last night before I came
back to this door to hand my lady out of her carriage, and I want to be
petted and spoken to kindly."

Cynthia's fingers twitched and she turned her head aside, but not before
Hubert had noticed the peculiar expression that crossed her face. Being
a play-writer and constant theatre-goer, his mind was full of theatrical
reminiscences. He remembered at that moment to have noticed that
peculiar twitch, that odd expression of countenance, in Sarah Bernhardt
when she was acting the part of a profoundly jealous woman. It had then
meant, "Go to my rival, to her whom you love, and be comforted--do not
come to me!" But there was no likeness between the great tragic actress
and Cynthia West either of character or of circumstance; and Cynthia had
no cause to be jealous. But he thought of the momentary impression
afterwards.

She turned her face back again with as sweet a smile as ever.

"You think you must always have your own way; but I want to be
considered too. I have something to tell you, and I shall not be happy
until it is said. If you are tired, you shall sit down in this chair--it
is much more comfortable than it looks--and have some tea, and then we
can talk. But Madame may be in by half-past six, and I want to get it
all over before she comes."

"'Getting it all over' sounds as if something disagreeable were to
follow!" said Hubert, releasing her and taking the chair she proffered.
"No tea, thank you; I had some at my club before I came. Now what is it,
dear? But sit down; I can't sit, you know, if you stand."

"I must stand," said Cynthia, with a touch of imperiousness. "I am the
criminal, and you are the judge. The criminal always stands."

"It is a very innocent criminal and a very unworthy judge in this
instance. 'Sit, Jessica.'"

She laughed and drew a chair forward. Sitting down, he saw that her
figure fell at once into a weary, languid attitude, and that the smile
faded suddenly from her face. He put his hand on hers.

"What is it, my dearest?" he said, seriously this time.

She raised her eyes, and they were full of