ng, of course? Lady M. told me the other day she <i>must</i> have
you."

Cliffe, still a little morose, replied that his invitation had been
waiting for him at his London rooms. He gave the information carelessly,
as though it did not matter to him a straw. In reality, as soon as,
while still in America, he had seen the announcement of the bail in one
of the New York papers, he had written at once to the Marchioness who
was to give it--an old acquaintance of his--practically demanding an
invitation. It had been sent indeed with alacrity, and without waiting
for its arrival Cliffe had ordered his dress in Paris. Kitty inquired
what it was to be.

"I told my man to copy a portrait of Alva."

"Ah, that's right," said Kitty, nodding--"that's right. Only it would
have been better if it had been Torquemada."

Rather nettled, Cliffe asked what there might be about him that so
forcibly suggested the Grand Inquisitor. Kitty, cigarette in hand, with
half-shut eyes, did not answer immediately. She seemed to be perusing
his face with difficulty.

"Strength, I suppose," she said at last, slowly. Cliffe waited, then
burst into a laugh.

"And cruelty?" She nodded.

"Who are my victims?"

She said nothing.

"Whose tales have you been listening to, Lady Kitty?"

She mentioned the name of a French lady. Cliffe changed countenance.

"Ah, well, if you have been talking to her," he said, haughtily, "you
may well expect to see me appear as Diabolus in person."

"No. But it's since then that I've read the poems again. You see, you
tell the public so much--"

"That you think you have the right to guess the rest?" He paused, then
added, with impatience, "Don't guess, Lady Kitty. You have everything
that life can give you. Let my secrets alone."

There was silence. Kitty looking round her saw that Madeleine Alcot was
entertaining her other guests, and that she and Cliffe were unobserved.
Suddenly Cliffe bent towards her, and said, with roughness, his face
struggling to conceal the feeling behind it:

"You heard--and you believed--that I tormented her--that I killed her?"

The anguish in his eyes seemed to strike a certain answering fire from
Kitty's.

"Yes, but--"

"But what?"

"I didn't think it very strange--"

Cliffe watched her closely.

"--that a man should be--an inhuman beast--if he were jealous--and
desperate. You can sympathize with these things?"

She drew a long breath, and threw away the cigarette she ha