about what they were going to eat marked for her the
severing difference between Craven's mental attitude at this moment and
hers. For him this little dinner was merely a pleasant way of spending a
casual evening in the company of one who was kind to him, whom he found
sympathetic, whom he admired probably as a striking representative of
an era that was past, the Edwardian era. For her it was an event full
of torment and joy. The joy came from being alone with him. But she
was tortured by yearnings which he knew nothing of. He was able to give
himself out to her naturally. She was obliged to hold herself in, to
conceal the horrible fact that she was obsessed by him, that she was
longing to commit sacrifices for him, to take him as her exclusive
possession, to surround him with love and worship. He wanted from her
what she was apparently giving him and nothing more. She wanted from
him all that he was not giving her and would never give her. The dinner
would be a tranquil pleasure for him, and a quivering torture for her,
mingled with some moments of forgetfulness in which she would have a
brief illusion of happiness. She made the comparison and thought
with despair of the unevenness of Fate. Meanwhile she was smiling and
praising the vegetable soup sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.

One of the musicians came up to their table, and inquired whether the
_signora_ would like any special thing played. Lady Sellingworth shook
her head. She was afraid of their songs of the South, and dared not
choose one.

"Anything you like!" she said.

"They are all much the same," she added to Craven.

"But I thought you were so fond of the songs of Naples and the Bay.
Don't you remember that first evening when--"

"Yes, I remember," she interrupted him, almost sharply. "But still these
songs are really all very much alike. They all express the same sort of
thing--Neapolitan desires."

"And not only Neapolitan desires, I should say," said Craven.

At that moment a hard look came into his eyes, a grimness altered his
mouth. His face completely changed, evidently under the influence of
some sudden and keen gust of feeling. He slightly bent his head, and the
colour rose in his cheeks.

Lady Sellingworth who, for the moment, had been wholly intent on
Craven, now looked to see what had caused this sudden and evidently
uncontrollable exhibition of feeling. She saw two people, a tall girl
and a man, walking down the restaurant towards the