of scorn, 'I will do nothing of the
kind. I have never been so insulted in my life, and I shall be obliged
if you will put an end to your attentions.'

The heart of the involuntary listener glowed within him, but Captain
MacMadden's drawl broke in and chilled him horribly.

'Well, look here, Claudia, damn it all! Will you marry me? I'll go that
far, if nothing else will do for you. I will, upon my word.'

'You may ask me that question in a week's time,' said Claudia. 'At
present I have no more to say to you than just "Good-night."'

The door closed and there was a silence. Claudia laughed quietly
to herself, and rustled towards the gas-jet. Paul stepped out and
intercepted her, the unlit candle in his hand, his hair disordered, and
his face stained with the dye the rain had soaked from his hat His
teeth were chattering noisily and rapidly, and he and Claudia faced each
other. Paul lit his candle mechanically, and set it on the hall table,
below the jet, which blinked with a faint intermittent hum.

'Are you spying upon me, Mr. Armstrong? asked Claudia, with a touch of
the manner of the stage.

'Not I,' Paul answered bluntly; 'I waited up to speak to you. Are you
going to marry that grinning nincompoop?'

'You presume,' said Claudia, with yet more of the manner of the stage.
'You presume abominably. Allow me to pass, sir.'

'The man has offered you a life of shame,' said Paul. 'You mean to
listen to him after that? She looked at him scornfully and defiantly.
'Well,' he said, shivering strangely from head to foot, 'you're not the
woman I took you for. It's good-bye to Claudia.'

He stood aside for her to pass. She lit her candle and swept by him. He
heard her door close, and the key turn in the lock. He stood shuddering
in the hall, the chance-held candle dropping grease upon the oil-cloth.
He gave one big dry sob and mounted to his garret-room. There was no
sleep for him, and he did not undress. The candle burned down in its
socket, the light flared up and died, and the nauseous stink of wick and
tallow filled the room. His mind was strangely vacant, but even in the
darkness and the silence he found a thousand things in which to take a
leaden interest: as the swaying of the window-curtains where a slight
draught caught them; the faintly-seen progress of the rain-drops down
the window-pane; the wet glints of light where the street gas-lamp dimly
irradiated the windows and the houses on the opposite side of the wa