n within her was fighting on his side. She stifled her wounded
feelings, crushed down her disappointment that he had not taken her at
once into his arms and answered her upon her lips.

"Trust me, then," she replied. "If you refuse my offer, don't hint at
things you have to do. Tell me in plain words why. It is not enough for
you to say that you cannot leave Monte Carlo. Tell me why you cannot. I
have invited you to escort me anywhere you will--I, your wife.... Shall
we go?"

The woman had wholly triumphed. Her voice had dropped, the light was in
her eyes. She swayed a little towards him. His brain reeled. She was
once more the only woman in the world for him. Once more he fancied that
he could feel the clinging of her arms, the touch of her lips. These
things were promised in her face.

"I tell you that I cannot go!" he cried sharply. "Believe me--do believe
me, Violet!"

She pulled down her veil suddenly. He caught at her hand. It lay
passively in his. He pleaded for her confidence, but the moment of
inspiration had gone. She heard him with the air of one who listens no
longer. Presently she stopped him.

"Don't speak to me for several minutes, please," she begged. "Tell him
to put me down at the hotel. I can't go back to the Club just yet."

"You mustn't leave me like this," he insisted.

"Will you tell me why you refuse my offer?" she asked.

"I have a trust!"

The automobile had come to a standstill. She rose to her feet.

"I was once your trust," she reminded him, as she passed into the hotel.

CHAPTER XIII

MISS GREX AT HOME

Richard Lane, as he made his way up the avenue towards the Villa Mimosa,
wondered whether he was not indeed finding his way into fairyland. On
either side of him were drooping mimosa trees, heavy with the snaky,
orange-coloured blossom whose perfumes hung heavy upon the windless air.
In the background, bordering the gardens which were themselves a maze of
colour, were great clumps of glorious purple rhododendrons, drooping
clusters of red and white roses. A sudden turn revealed a long pergola,
smothered in pink blossoms and leading to the edge of the terrace which
overhung the sea. The villa itself, which seemed, indeed, more like a
palace, was covered with vivid purple clematis, and from the open door
of the winter-garden, which was built out from the front of the place in
a great curve, there came, as he drew near, a bewildering breath of
exotic odours. The front-do