ched it,
and closed his eyes as though in pain. When he opened them he saw her
standing in the archway.

She had taken off her coat, and was in a simple white muslin gown, with
a black belt--a costume that had become habitual. Her age was thirty.
The tragedy and the gravity of her life during these later years had
touched her with something that before was lacking. In the street,
in the galleries, people had turned to look at her; not with impudent
stares. She caught attention, aroused imagination. Once, the year
before, she had had a strange experience with a well-known painter, who,
in an impulsive note, had admitted following her home and bribing the
concierge. He craved a few sittings. Her expression now, as she looked
at Peter, was graver than usual.

"You must not come to-morrow," she said.

"I thought we were going to Versailles again," he replied in surprise.
"I have made the arrangements."

"I have changed my mind. I'm not going."

"You want to postpone it?" he asked.

She took a chair beside the little blaze in the fireplace.

"Sit down, Peter. I wish to say something to you. I have been wishing to
do so for some time."

"Do you object if I stand a moment?" he said. "I feel so much more
comfortable standing, especially when I am going to be scolded."

"Yes," she admitted, "I am going to scold you. Your conscience has
warned you."

"On the contrary," he declared, "it has never been quieter. If I have
offended; it is through ignorance."

"It is through charity, as usual," she said m a low voice. "If
your conscience be quiet, mine is not. It is in myself that I am
disappointed--I have been very selfish. I have usurped you. I have
known it all along, and I have done very wrong in not relinquishing you
before."

"Who would have shown me Paris?" he exclaimed.

"No," she continued, "you would not have been alone. If I had needed
proof of that fact, I had it to-day--"

"Oh, Minturn," he interrupted; "think of me hanging about an Embassy and
trying not to spill tea!" And he smiled at the image that presented.

Her own smile was fleeting.

"You would never do that, I know," she said gravely.

"You are still too modest, Peter, but the time has gone by when I can
be easily deceived. You have a great reputation among men of affairs, an
unique one. In spite of the fact that you are distinctly American, you
have a wide interest in what is going on in the world. And you have an
opportunity here to meet