called for a second absinthe.

"But a dead body's different to wax-works," he said. "I can't understand
any one being frightened of _them_."

"Oh, can't you?" The contempt in the other's tone stung him. "I bet you
wouldn't spend a night alone in that place."

"I bet you five pounds I do!"

"Done!" said Edward briskly. "At least, I would if you'd got five
pounds."

"But I have. I'm simply rolling. I've sold my Dejanira, didn't you know?
I shall win your money, though, anyway. But _you_ couldn't do it, old
man. I suppose you'll never outgrow that childish scare."

"You might shut up about that," said Edward shortly.

"Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of; some women are afraid of mice or
spiders. I say, does Rose know you're a coward?"

"Vincent!"

"No offence, old boy. One may as well call a spade a spade. Of course,
you've got tons of moral courage, and all that. But you _are_ afraid of
the dark--and wax-works!"

"Are you trying to quarrel with me?"

"Heaven in its mercy forbid; but I bet _you_ wouldn't spend a night in
the Musee Grevin and keep your senses."

"What's the stake?"

"Anything you like."

"Make it, that if I do, you'll never speak to Rose again--and what's
more, that you'll never speak to me," said Edward, white-hot, knocking
down a chair as he rose.

"Done!" said Vincent; "but you'll never do it. Keep your hair on.
Besides, you're off home."

"I shall be back in ten days. I'll do it then," said Edward, and was off
before the other could answer.

Then Vincent, left alone, sat still, and over his third absinthe
remembered how, before she had known Edward, Rose had smiled on him;
more than on the others, he had thought. He thought of her wide, lovely
eyes, her wild-rose cheeks, the scented curves of her hair, and then and
there the devil entered into him.

In ten days Edward would undoubtedly try to win his wager. He would try
to spend the night in the Musee Grevin. Perhaps something could be
arranged before that. If one knew the place thoroughly! A little scare
would serve Edward right for being the man to whom that last glance of
Rose's had been given.

Vincent dined lightly, but with conscientious care--and as he dined, he
thought. Something might be done by tying a string to one of the
figures, and making it move, when Edward was going through that
impossible night among the effigies that are so like life--so like
death. Something that was not the devil said: "You may frighten him