"My friend," she said, "if you knew, if you understood, the priceless
humor of it would be gone."

She closed the door and left John alone. He went back to the
billiard-table, but somehow or other his skill seemed to have vanished.
He had the picture of her face in his mind, the subtle meaning of her
lips, the mockery of her eyes.

They drove up to London almost in silence. It was nearly seven o'clock
when John swung the little car in Pont Street. It was still raining
softly.

"Thank you very much," he said, "for my week-end. I enjoyed the river
immensely yesterday afternoon."

"And thank you very much for everything, Mr. John Strangewey," she
returned. "You have given me what we are all sighing for, a new
sensation--not exactly what I expected, perhaps, but something new."

"I know you think I am a country yokel and a fool," John said; "but I
wish you'd tell me why you laughed at me in that mysterious fashion."

She shook her head.

"It would spoil it," she replied. "Besides, it isn't for me to tell you.
I am the last person who should."

They drew up outside her little house, from which came no sign of light.

"Will you dine with me to-night?" he asked suddenly.

She turned toward him quickly--and understood.

"Very nice of you," she replied lightly. "I shall go round to my club.
You don't agree with me, somehow. When I look at you or think of you, I
feel inclined either to laugh or cry, and I hate emotions. Don't get
out, please. You see, they are opening the door already."

She slipped away and disappeared into her house. John drove slowly back
toward the Milan. Just as he was turning in, a little waterproofed
figure from the pavement waved her hand and called to him. He drew up
and she hastened to his side.

"What are you doing here?" Sophy asked. "I thought you were spending the
week-end up the river."

"I stayed there last night," he answered. "To-day--well, look at the
weather! I have just motored Lady Hilda up."

"And what are you going to do now?" she inquired eagerly.

"Give you some dinner," he replied promptly.

"Hurrah!" she answered. "I have been so bored and miserable that I went
and walked over Waterloo Bridge in a mackintosh, just to get a little
air. I'll be round in an hour. Will that do?"

"Any time you like," he agreed; "the sooner the better. I was almost
wishing, a few minutes ago," he went on, "that I could find the courage
to storm you in your little room. Louise is away,