A waiter served them with champagne. When John's glass was filled, he
drained its contents. Sophy watched him with surprise. She came a little
closer to him.

"John," she whispered, "you must tell me--do you hear? You must tell me
everything! Did you take Louise home?"

"Yes."

"What happened, then? You didn't quarrel with her?"

"Nothing at all happened," he assured her. "We parted the best of
friends. It wasn't that."

"Then what? Remember that I am your friend, John dear. Tell me
everything."

He poured himself more wine and drank it.

"I will tell you," he assented. "I went to a little club I belong to on
the Adelphi Terrace. I sat down in the smoking room. There was no one
there I knew. Some men were talking. They had been to the reception
to-night. They were comparing French actresses and English. They spoke
first of the French woman, Latrobe, and her lovers; then of Louise. They
spoke quite calmly, like men discussing history. They compared the two
actresses, they compared their lives. Latrobe, they said, had lovers by
the score--Louise only one."

Sophy's hand stole into his. She was watching the twisting of his
features. She understood so well the excitement underneath.

"I think I can guess," she whispered. "Don't hurt yourself telling me.
Something was said about the prince!"

His eyes blazed down upon her.

"You, too?" he muttered. "Does the whole world know of it and speak as
if it did not matter? Sophy, is it true? Speak out! Don't be afraid of
hurting me. You call yourself my friend. I've been down, looking at the
outside of her house. I dared not go in. There's a fire burning in my
soul! Tell me if it is true!"

"You must not ask me that question, John," she begged. "How should I
know? Besides, these things are so different in our world, the world you
haven't found out much about yet. Supposing it were true, John," she
went on, "remember that it was before you knew her. Supposing it should
be true, remember this--your idea of life is too absurd. Is one creed
made to fit human beings who may differ in a million different ways? A
woman may be as good as any ever born into the world, and yet take just
a little love into her life, if she be true and faithful in doing it. I
don't believe there is a dearer or sweeter woman breathing than Louise,
but one must have love. Don't I know it? A man may be strong enough to
live without it, but a woman--never!"

The skirts of the women brushed thei