slowly,
in the gathering shadows, along the path which skirts the dingy temple
of Luxor. This change in Betty was simply inexplicable. In no way could
he account for it. She had not the definite, angry coldness of a girl
who had made a dreadful mistake and hated the man who had led her to
make it. No; she seemed rather in a state of mental transition. She was
setting foot on some bridge, which, Bellairs felt, led away from the
shore on which she had been standing with him. Was her first transport
of love and joy a pretence? He could not believe so. He knew it was
genuine. That was the puzzle which he could not put together. And then
he tried to comfort himself by thinking deliberately of the many moods
that make the feminine mind so full of April weather, of how they come
and pass and are dead. All men had suffered from them, especially all
lovers. He could not expect to be exempt--only, till now, Betty had
seemed so utterly free from moods, so steadily frank, eager, charming,
responsive. Bellairs finally argued himself into a condition of despair,
during which he came to a resolve of despair. He silently decided to
seek a quiet interview with Clarice, and ask her what was the matter
with Betty. After all, there was no reason why he should not take this
step. Clarice had evidently not cared deeply for him. Otherwise, she
would not have accepted his desertion with such truly agreeable
fortitude. Theirs had been a passing flirtation--nothing more. And,
indeed, their intimacy gave him the right to consult her, while her
close knowledge of Betty must render her an infallible judge of any
reasons which there might be to render the latter's conduct
intelligible.

* * * * *

Bellairs did not have to wait long before he put his resolve into
practice. That evening Betty, who had become more and more abstracted
and silent, got up soon after dinner, and said she was tired, and was
going to bed. Bellairs tried to get a moment with her alone, but she
frustrated the attempt by holding out her hand to him in public and
markedly bidding him good-night before Lord and Lady Braydon. When she
had disappeared, Bellairs sought Clarice, who was downstairs in the
saloon writing letters. Clarice looked up from the blotting-pad as he
entered.

"I want to talk to you," he exclaimed abruptly.

"I am writing letters."

"Do give me a few minutes."

"Very well," she said, pushing her paper away and laying down