"You shall share this present one."

"I think not."

"I think--'yes.'"

He flung his arm suddenly around her, drawing her close.

"Look here," he said; and, taking his hand from the pages of the book
where it had been resting, he lifted the volume toward her. As her eyes
lowered themselves to the book, his fastened upon her face. The next
moment she had sprung up, thrusting him from her. The book lay sprawled
on the floor between them. It was a very rare volume of morbidly
licentious engravings, repulsive, abominable.

She was livid with scorn and loathing. Her breast heaved. She felt the
scalding of furious tears against her eyelids. She could not speak; and
with that bracelet of his big, soft fingers about her wrist, he held
her, laughing silently, convulsed with laughter.

But in Sophy there sprang to life something that was as dangerous as
anything in him.

She said, whispering: "You'll be sorry all your life if you don't take
your hand from me."

The light eyes wavered. Then he flung back her hand.

"Damme if you're worth the candle!" he said.

She turned and began walking quietly away from him.

This seemed quite to frenzy him.

He leaped over the fallen book and came at her like a bull, his head
lowered. He took her by both shoulders.

"Look here!" he said. "What do you mean by wearing those pearls of
Gerald's all the time?"

Sophy looked at him whitely. She smiled.

"They were given me to wear, I believe."

"He's in love with you--with his brother's wife! But I'll not have his
baubles on your neck, nor antlers on my own head. Off with them!"

She stood frozenly. Her dark eyes poured scorn upon him. He made a
snatch at the necklace--another. She stood quite motionless, while the
great, angry hands snatched at her throat. His last clutch broke the
string. The pearls rained down, some into her bosom, the greater part
upon the polished floor. He stood heavily, gazing at the little white
drops, as they rolled over the dark wood of the parquet.

While he gazed as if hypnotised, Sophy went swiftly out into the hall.
She closed the door behind her. Her voice roused him, saying: "Mr.
Chesney isn't feeling well enough to go out to-night. I shall go alone.
Is the cab there?"

He heard the butler's voice answering.

She knew that he would not make a scene before the servants. Changing
quickly to another mood, he glanced at the closed, door, grinning at her
astuteness. Then carefully he gathered u