on the low lounge that is half
hidden from the public gaze by the Indian curtains that fall at each
side of it. He had made no pretence of finishing the dance. He had led
the way and she had suffered herself to be led into the small anteroom
that, half smothered in early spring flowers, lay off the dancing room.

"Ah! you see you have yet much to learn about me," says she, with an
attempt at gayety--that fails, however.

"About you? No!" says he, almost defiantly. "Don't tell me I have
deceived myself about you, Beatrice; you are all I have left to fall
back upon now." His tone is reckless to the last degree.

"A forlorn pis-aller," she says, steadily, with a forced smile. "What is
it, Cyril?" looking at him with sudden intentness. "Something has
happened. What?"

"The old story," returns he, "and I am sick of it. I have thrown up my
hand. I would have been faithful to her, Beatrice. I swear that, but she
does not care for my devotion. And as for me, now----" He throws out his
arms as if tired to death, and draws in his breath heavily.

"Now?" says she, leaning forward.

"Am I worth your acceptance?" says he, turning sharply to her. "I hardly
dare to think it, and yet you have been kind to me, and your own lot is
not altogether a happy one, and----"

He pauses.

"Do you hesitate?" asks she very bitterly, although her pale lips are
smiling.

"Will you risk it all?" says he, sadly. "Will you come away with me? I
feel I have no friend on earth but you. Will you take pity on me? I
shall not stay here, whatever happens; I have striven against fate too
long--it has overcome me. Another land--a different life--complete
forgetfulness----"

"Do you know what you are saying?" asks Lady Swansdown, who has grown
deadly white.

"Yes; I have thought it all out. It is for you now to decide. I have
sometimes thought I was not entirely indifferent to you, and at all
events we are friends in the best sense of the term. If you were a happy
married woman, Beatrice, I should not speak to you like this, but as it
is--in another land--if you will come with me--we----"

"Think, think!" says she, putting up her hand to stay him from further
speech. "All this is said in a moment of angry excitement. You have
called me your friend--and truly. I am so far in touch with you that I
can see you are very unhappy. You have had--forgive me if I probe
you--but you have had some--some words with your wife?"

"Final words! I hope--I think