country. The scent of the hot asphalt
came in through the open windows. The house looked queer and bleak, all
dressed in brown holland for the summer.

The butler had filled the rooms with American Beauty roses. She disliked
these roses. They always suggested to her the idea that they had been
mulched with bank notes. She sat listlessly in the big, ornate room of
the rented house, surrounded by yards of brown holland and acres of the
artificial looking roses.

At a quarter past eight Loring came in. She heard him speak to the
butler. Then he went to his own room. He came down in half an hour. Her
heart swelled when she saw him.

He came over, took her hand loosely, and left a glancing kiss upon her
cheek.

"You look fit.... Had a pleasant time?" he asked politely. Then in the
same breath he added: "Jove! I'm hungry.... There's nothing like a good
go at polo for making a chap keen on his tuck."

"Who won?" asked Sophy politely. She was dreadfully hurt; but she was
proud also.

"Oh, our side.... We've been winning pretty steadily. Nipped the three
last goals from under their noses."

They maintained a laboured conversation in the drawing-room until ten.
Then she rose, saying that she thought as they were to leave for Newport
next day, she would go to bed early. There was so much packing to see
about. He rose, too, and held the door ceremoniously, while she passed
out.

She went to her room with her heart aching and heavy.

Drawing aside one of the light muslin curtains, she stood at the window
in her thin night-dress trying to refresh herself with a breath of
outer air, even though it reeked of asphalt.

The door of her room opened and shut. She turned with a start. Morris
was striding towards her, white of face and black of eyes. He wrapped
her in a fierce hug. She was crushed against him so that it hurt her.
His eyes were eating her face. They were hard, angry, yet burning with
desire. It was almost the glare of hatred.

"I want you ... you're mine! How dare you keep me wanting you like this
... all these damnable weeks?"

Sophy stood rigid in his locked arms. That look in his eyes was awful to
her.

"You hurt me, Morris ... let me go...." she said.

"No, I'll not let you go.... I'm master in this room...."

"Morris!"

"You'll take the consequences of making me hate you and love you at the
same time! By God! you'll take the consequences...."

She felt very strong and cold--very fiercely cold all