e, and poured out another cup of
coffee. Nothing is more thrilling, thought he, than to be treated as a
cully by the person you hold in the hollow of your hand.

But within this great irony lay (to be glided over) another irony. He
knew well in what mood Zuleika had done what she had done to him last
night; yet he preferred to accept her explanation of it.

Officially, then, he acquitted her of anything worse than tomboyishness.
But this verdict for his own convenience implied no mercy to the
culprit. The sole point for him was how to administer her punishment the
most poignantly. Just how should he word his letter?

He rose from his chair, and "Dear Miss Dobson--no, MY dear Miss Dobson,"
he murmured, pacing the room, "I am so very sorry I cannot come to see
you: I have to attend two lectures this morning. By contrast with this
weariness, it will be the more delightful to meet you at The MacQuern's.
I want to see as much as I can of you to-day, because to-night there is
the Bump Supper, and to-morrow morning, alas! I must motor to Windsor
for this wretched Investiture. Meanwhile, how can you ask to be forgiven
when there is nothing whatever to forgive? It seems to me that mine, not
yours, is the form of humour that needs explanation. My proposal to die
for you was made in as playful a spirit as my proposal to marry you. And
it is really for me to ask forgiveness of you. One thing especially," he
murmured, fingering in his waistcoat-pocket the ear-rings she had given
him, "pricks my conscience. I do feel that I ought not to have let
you give me these two pearls--at any rate, not the one which went into
premature mourning for me. As I have no means of deciding which of the
two this one is, I enclose them both, with the hope that the pretty
difference between them will in time reappear"... Or words to that
effect... Stay! why not add to the joy of contriving that effect the
greater joy of watching it? Why send Zuleika a letter? He would obey her
summons. He would speed to her side. He snatched up a hat.

In this haste, however, he detected a certain lack of dignity. He
steadied himself, and went slowly to the mirror. There he adjusted his
hat with care, and regarded himself very seriously, very sternly, from
various angles, like a man invited to paint his own portrait for the
Uffizi. He must be worthy of himself. It was well that Zuleika should
be chastened. Great was her sin. Out of life and death she had fashioned
toy