ce was the only way out of an impossible situation. It was
in vain that he commanded the young lady to let go: she did but cling
the closer. It was in vain that he tried to disentangle himself of her
by standing first on one foot, then on the other, and veering sharply on
his heel: she did but sway as though hinged to him. He had no choice but
to grasp her by the wrists, cast her aside, and step clear of her into
the room.

Her hat, gauzily basking with a pair of long white gloves on one of his
arm-chairs, proclaimed that she had come to stay.

Nor did she rise. Propped on one elbow, with heaving bosom and parted
lips, she seemed to be trying to realise what had been done to her.
Through her undried tears her eyes shone up to him.

He asked: "To what am I indebted for this visit?"

"Ah, say that again!" she murmured. "Your voice is music."

He repeated his question.

"Music!" she said dreamily; and such is the force of habit that "I
don't," she added, "know anything about music, really. But I know what I
like."

"Had you not better get up from the floor?" he said. "The door is open,
and any one who passed might see you."

Softly she stroked the carpet with the palms of her hands. "Happy
carpet!" she crooned. "Aye, happy the very women that wove the threads
that are trod by the feet of my beloved master. But hark! he bids his
slave rise and stand before him!"

Just after she had risen, a figure appeared in the doorway.

"I beg pardon, your Grace; Mother wants to know, will you be lunching
in?"

"Yes," said the Duke. "I will ring when I am ready." And it dawned on
him that this girl, who perhaps loved him, was, according to all known
standards, extraordinarily pretty.

"Will--" she hesitated, "will Miss Dobson be--"

"No," he said. "I shall be alone." And there was in the girl's parting
half-glance at Zuleika that which told him he was truly loved, and made
him the more impatient of his offensive and accursed visitor.

"You want to be rid of me?" asked Zuleika, when the girl was gone.

"I have no wish to be rude; but--since you force me to say it--yes."

"Then take me," she cried, throwing back her arms, "and throw me out of
the window."

He smiled coldly.

"You think I don't mean it? You think I would struggle? Try me." She let
herself droop sideways, in an attitude limp and portable. "Try me," she
repeated.

"All this is very well conceived, no doubt," said he, "and well
executed. But it happens