or an instant, imagined that Rachel would be present. The sight of
her took all calmer deliberation away from him because he wished so
eagerly to speak to her and to hear her voice.

They were sitting with the table between them and they were both of them
conscious first of Roddy, lying so still and watching them from his
sofa, and then of the last time that they had met and of that last kiss
they had taken. But Rachel, with strange relief and also with yet
stranger disappointment, was realizing that Breton's presence gave her
no spark, no tiniest flame of passion. She was sorry for him, she wished
most urgently that no harm should come to him, she would, here at this
moment, protect him with her life, with her honour, with anything that
he might demand of her, but her emotion, every vital burning part of it,
was given to her retention of Roddy.

She might have felt anger because she had, as it were, been entrapped,
she might have felt terror of the possible results to herself ... she
felt nothing except that she must not lose Roddy.

"I know now," she said, perhaps to herself, "I know at last what it is
that I have wanted. And, knowing this, if, just grasping it, I should
lose it!"

"Tea, Mr. Breton--sugar? Milk? Would you take my husband's cup to him?
Thank you so much. Yes, he has sugar----"

"I was so sorry," Breton said, "to hear of your accident. You must have
had a bad time."

"Yes," said Roddy, laughing. "It was rotten! But what one loses one way
one gains in another, I find. People are much pleasanter than they used
to be."

Roddy, as he looked at them both, had something of the feeling that a
schoolboy might be expected to have did he suddenly find that some trick
that he had planned was having a really great success.

He was strangely relieved at Breton's appearance, he was more sure than
ever of his retention of Rachel, he had, most delightfully up his
sleeve, the imminent appearance of the Duchess. As he looked at his wife
he could see that she was appealing to him not to make it too hard for
both of them. He could, now that he had seen Breton, flatter himself
with something of the same superiority that Rachel had once shown on
beholding Nita Raseley.

Breton, as the moments passed, felt firmer ground beneath his feet.
Rachel, wondering how she could contrive their meeting, had chosen this,
the boldest way, had begged her husband to invite him, planned to make
him a friend of the house. And yet w