ng to her feet.

"Heavens, look at the time!" she exclaimed. "It is incredible. I
shall barely be in time for the theatre. I must go and dress at once."

He too rose.

"I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like," he said, "but I am
going to the 'Unusual' with you. Your maid would not be of the least
protection."

"But your dinner!" she protested. "You will be so late."

He laughed.

"You cannot seriously believe," he said, "that at the present moment I
care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not."

She laughed.

"Well, you certainly did very well at tea," she remarked. "If you
really are going to wait, make yourself as comfortable as you can.
There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there."

Anna disappeared, but Ennison did not trouble either the cigarettes or
the magazines. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of
the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire.

People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a
politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. Yet he
was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. He was absolutely unable to
focus his ideas. The girl who had just left the room was as great a
mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in
Piccadilly and taken her to tea. And behind--there was Paris, memories
of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart
beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. For the first time a
definite doubt possessed him. A woman cannot change her soul. Then it
was the woman herself who was changed. Anna was not "Alcide" of the
"Ambassador's," whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had
called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. It was
impossible.

She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with
common-sense, his own apprehension. He rose at once to his feet and
turned a white face upon her.

"I am going to break a covenant," he cried. "I cannot keep silence any
longer."

"You are going to speak to me of things which happened before we met
in London?" she asked quietly.

"Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. I must!"

She threw open the door and pointed to it.

"My word holds," she said. "If you speak--farewell."

He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face.
Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. He was suddenly
calm.

"I shall not speak," he said,