He remained silent so long that she added: "The tie is not looser than
the old-fashioned one. More rigid, perhaps, because they are on their
honour."

"And if they tire of each other?"

"You, also, have divorce," said the girl, smiling.

"Do you?"

"It is beastly to live together where love does not exist. People who
believe as they do--as I do--merely separate."

"And contract another alliance if they wish?"

"Do not your divorcees remarry if they wish?"

"What becomes of the children?" he demanded sullenly.

"What becomes of them when your courts divorce their parents?"

"I see. It's all a parody on lawful regularity."

"I'm sorry you speak of it that way----"

The girl's face flushed and she extended her hand toward her wine
glass.

"I didn't intend to hurt you, Palla," he said.

She drew a quick breath, looked up, smiled: "You didn't mean to," she
said. Then into her brown eyes came the delicious glimmer:

"May I whisper to you, Jim? Is it too rude?"

He inclined his head and felt the thrill of her breath:

"Shall we drink one glass together--to each other alone?"

"Yes."

"To a dear comradeship, and close!... And not too desperate!" she
added, as her glance flashed into hidden laughter.

They drank, not daring to look toward each other. And Palla's careless
gaze, slowly sweeping the circle, finally met Marya's--as she knew it
must. Both smiled, touching each other at once with invisible
antennae--always searching, exploring under the glimmering aura what no
male ever discovered or comprehended.

There was, in the living room above, a little more music--a song or
two before the guests departed.

Marya, a little apart, turned to Shotwell:

"You find our Russian folk-song amusing?"

"Wonderful!"

"If, by any chance, you should remember that I am at home on
Thursdays, there is a song I think that might interest you." She let
her eyes rest on him with a curious stillness in their depths:

"The song is called _Lada_," she said in a voice so low that he just
heard her. The next moment she was taking leave of Palla; kissed her.
Vanya enveloped her in her wrap.

* * * * *

Estridge called up a taxi; and presently went away with Ilse.

Very slowly Palla came back to the centre of the room, where Shotwell
stood. The scent of flowers was in his nostrils, his throat; the girl
herself seemed saturated with their perfume as he took her into his
arms.