py together. I have just refused a dinner
because of--this. Didn't you hear me on the 'phone?"

"Thou wast wrong," she smiled. "I am not worth a dinner. It is
essential that I should return home. I am tired--tired. It is Sunday
night, and I have sworn to myself that I will pass this evening at
home--alone."

Exasperating, maddening creature! He thought: "I fancied I knew her,
and I don't know her. I'm only just beginning to know her." He stared
steadily at her soft, serious, worried, enchanting face, and tried
to see through it into the arcana of her queer little brain. He could
not. The sweet face foiled him.

"Then why come?"

"Because I wished to be nice to thee, to prove to thee how nice I am."

She seized her gloves. He saw that she meant to go. His demeanour
changed. He was aware of his power over her, and he would use it.
She was being subtle; but he could be subtle too, far subtler than
Christine. True, he had not penetrated her face. Nevertheless his
instinct, and his male gift of ratiocination, informed him that
beneath her gentle politeness she was vexed, hurt, because he had got
rid of Mrs. Braiding before receiving her. She had her feelings, and
despite her softness she could resent. Still, her feelings must not
be over-indulged; they must not be permitted to make a fool of her. He
said, rather teasingly, but firmly:

"I know why she refuses to stay."

She cried, plaintive:

"It is not that I have another rendezvous. No! But naturally thou
thinkest it is that."

He shook his head.

"Not at all. The little silly wants to go back home because she finds
there is no servant here. She is insulted in her pride. I noticed it
in her first words when she came in. And yet she ought to know--"

Christine gave a loud laugh that really disconcerted him.

"Au revoir, my old one. Embrace me." She dropped the veil.

"No!"

He could play a game of pretence longer than she could. She moved with
dignity towards the door, but never would she depart like that.
He knew that when it came to the point she was at the mercy of her
passion for him. She had confessed the tyranny of her passion, as such
victims foolishly will. Moreover he had perceived it for himself.
He followed her to the door. At the door she would relent. And,
sure enough, at the door she leapt at him and clasped his neck with
fierceness and fiercely kissed him through her veil, and exclaimed
bitterly:

"Ah! Thou dost not love me, but I love th