them: "Mrs. Mortimer, when Mr. Plank arrives, you will be kind enough to
explain why Sylvia is unable to accompany you."

If Leila heard she neither turned nor made sign of comprehension.

"We will dine at the Santa Regina," he said to Sylvia. "Agatha is there
and I'll find somebody at the club to--"

"Why bother to find anybody?" said Leila, wheeling on him, exasperated.
"Why not dine there with Agatha alone? It will not be the first time I
fancy!"

"What do you mean?" he said fiercely, under his breath. The colour had
left his face, too, and in his eyes Leila saw for the first time an
expression that she had never before surprised in any eyes except her
husband's. It was the expression of fright; she recognised it. But
Sylvia stared, unenlightened, at an altered visage she scarcely knew for
Quarrier's.

"What do I mean?" repeated Leila; "I mean what I say; and if you don't
understand it you can find the key to it, I fancy. Nor shall I answer to
you for my guests. I invite whom I choose. Mr. Siward is one, Mr. Plank
is another. Sylvia, if you care to come I shall be delighted."

"I do care to come," said Sylvia. Her heart was beating violently, her
eyes were on Quarrier.

"If you go," said Quarrier, showing the glimmering edge of teeth under
his beard, "you will answer to me for it."

"I will answer you now, Howard; I am going with Mrs. Mortimer. What have
you to say?"

"I'll say it to-morrow," he replied, contemplating her in a dull,
impassive manner as though absorbed in other things.

"Say what there is to be said now!" she insisted, the hot colour
staining her cheeks again. "Do you desire me to free you? Is that all? I
will if you wish."

"No. And I shall not free you, Sylvia. This--all this can be adjusted in
time."

"As you please," she said slowly.

"In time," he repeated, his passionless voice now under perfect control.
He turned and looked at Leila; all the wickedness of his anger was
concentrated in his gaze. Then he took his leave of them as formally, as
precisely as though he had forgotten the whole scene; and a minute later
the big Mercedes ran out into a half-circle, backed, wheeled, and rolled
away through the thickening dusk, the glare of the acetylenes sweeping
the deserted street.

Into the twilight sped Quarrier, head bent, but his soft, dark-lashed
eyes of a woman fixed steadily ahead. Every energy, every thought was
now bent to this newest phase of the same question which he and