his in her.

"I oughtn't to be here."

"Absurd. Why not?"

"Fritz has a jealous temperament."

She spoke with a simple naturalness that moved the diplomat within him
to a strong admiration.

"You can act far better than Miss Schley," he said, with intentional
bluntness.

"I love her acting."

"I'm going away. I shan't see you for an age. Don't give me a theatrical
performance to-day."

"Can a woman do anything else?"

"Yes. She can be a woman."

"That's stupid--or terrible. What a dear little lamp that is! I like
your room."

Robin looked at the blue-grey linen on the walls, at the pale blue wing
in her hat, then at her white face.

"Viola," he said, leaning forward, "it's bad to waste anything in this
life, but the worst thing of all is to waste unhappiness. If I could
teach you to be niggardly of your tears!"

"What do you mean?"

She spoke with sudden sharpness.

"I never cry. Nothing's worth a tear," she added.

"Yes, some things are. But not what you are going to weep for."

Her face had changed. The gaiety had gone out of it, and it looked
hesitating.

"You think I am going to shed tears?" she said. "Why?"

"I am glad you let me tell you. For the loss of nothing--a coin that
never came out of the mint, that won't pass current anywhere."

"I've lost nothing," she exclaimed, "nothing. You're talking nonsense."

He made no reply, but looked at the small, steady flame of the lamp. She
followed his eyes, and, when he saw that she was looking at it too, he
said:

"Isn't a little, steady flame like that beautiful?"

She laughed.

"When it means tea--yes. Does it mean tea?"

"If you can wait a few minutes."

"I suppose I must. Have you heard anything of Mr. Carey?"

Robin looked at her narrowly.

"What made you think of him just then?"

"I don't know. Being here, I suppose. He often comes here, doesn't he?"

"Then this room holds more of his personality than of mine?"

There was an under sound of vexation in his voice.

"Have you heard anything?"

"No. But no doubt he's still in the North with his mother."

"How domestic. I hope there is a stool of repentance in the family
house."

"I wonder if you could ever repent of anything."

"Do you think there is anything I ought to repent of?"

"Oh, yes."

"What?"

"You might have married a man who knew the truth of you, and you married
a man incapable of ever knowing it."

He half expected an outburst of anger to follow his