erward to some dance at Richmond. Michael
was furious that Lily should be invited to Richmond, and yet until she
had promised to marry him how could he combat Sylvia's influence? And
who was Jack? And with whom had Sylvia been to Brighton?

The day after the dance, Michael came round about twelve o'clock as
usual, but when he reached the sitting-room only Sylvia was before the
fire.

"Lily isn't down yet," she told him.

He was aware of a breathlessness in the atmosphere, and he knew that he
and Sylvia were shortly going to clash.

"Jolly dance?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders, and there was a long pause.

"Will Lily be dressed soon? I rather want to take her out." Michael
flung down his challenge.

"She's been talking to me about what you said yesterday," Sylvia began.

Michael could not help liking her more and more, although her
countenance was set against him. He could not help admiring that
out-thrust underlip and those wide-set, deep and bitter brown eyes.

"When do you propose to marry her?" Sylvia went on.

"As soon as possible," he said coolly.

"Which of us do you think has the greater influence over her?" she
demanded.

"I really don't know. You have rather an advantage over me in that
respect."

"I'm glad you admit that," interrupted Sylvia, with sarcastic chill.

"You have personality. You've probably been very kind to Lily. You're
cleverer than she is. You're with her all the time. I've only quite
suddenly come into her life again."

"I'm glad you think you've managed to do that," she said, glowering.

More and more, Michael thought, with her wide-set eyes was she like a
cat crouching by the fire.

"Just because I had to go away for three days and you had an opportunity
to be alone with Lily, you now think you've come into her life. My god,
you're like some damned fool in a novel!"

"A novel by whom?" Michael asked. Partly he was trying to score off
Sylvia, but at the same time he was sincerely curious to know, for he
never could resist the amplification of a comparison.

"Oh, any ink-slinger with a brain of pulp," she answered savagely.

He bowed.

"I suppose you're suffering from the virus of sentimental redemption?"
she sneered.

Michael was rather startled by her divination.

"What should I redeem her from?"

"I thought you boasted of knowing Lily six years ago?"

"I don't know that I boasted of it," he replied, in rather an injured
tone. "But I did know her--ver