her
way towards the house again; finally she disappeared with Span in the
direction of the servants' quarters.

James Tapster, walking on by himself, began to feel unaccountably
frightened. He asked himself, uneasily, almost uttering the words aloud
in his agitation, whether, after all, he had been "caught"; and whether
Bubbles was only "making all this fuss" in order to "bring him to heel"?
But two could play at that game. He toyed seriously, or so he believed,
with the idea of ordering his motor and just "bolting"; but of course he
did nothing of the kind. The more Bubbles hung back, the more he wanted
her; her coldness stung him into something nearer ardour than he had
ever felt.

And Bubbles? Bubbles felt annoyed, uneasy, even obscurely hurt. It often
happens that an offer of marriage leaves a girl feeling lonely and
oppressed. Deep in her heart she knew she would never, never, _never_,
become Mrs. Tapster. On the other hand, she was aware that there were
many people in the London set among whom she now lived and had her
being, who would regard her as mad to refuse a man who, whatever his
peculiarities, possessed enormous wealth. If only she could have had a
tenth part of James Tapster's money without James Tapster, what a happy
woman she would have been!

As it was, Bubbles told herself fretfully that she had no wish to be
married. She was not yet tired of the kind of idle-busy life she led; it
was an amusing and stimulating life; and though she had her dark hours,
when nothing seemed worth while, up to the present time there had been
much more sunshine than shadow. The girl was sufficiently clever and
sensitive to realize her good fortune in the matter of Bill Donnington.
Sometimes, deep in her heart, she told herself that when she had drunk
her cup of pleasure, amusement, and excitement to the dregs--perhaps in
ten years from now--she would at last reward Donnington's long faithful
love and selfless devotion. And rather to her own surprise, during the
half-hour which followed Tapster's uninspired proposal, Bubbles thought
far more of Donnington than she did of the man who had just asked her to
become his wife.

Sitting all alone in the hall, crouching down on a footstool close to
the fire, for somehow she felt tired--tired, and exhausted--she made one
definite resolution. She would give up, as far as she was able, the
practice of those psychic arts which she knew those who loved her
believed to involve a rea