as the smile of an enemy. He eyed her strangely.

"Did you? That was waste of time."

"I think you intended I should read it."

He hesitated.

"Lady Kitty, those things are very far away. I can't defend myself--for
they seem wiped out." He had crossed his arms, and was leaning back
against the open door, a fine, rugged figure, by no means repentant.

Kitty laughed.

"You overstate the difference!"

"Between the past and the present? What does that mean?"

She dropped her eyes a moment, then raised them.

"Do you often go to San Lazzaro?"

He bowed.

"I had a suspicion that the vision at the window--though it was there
only an instant--was you! So you saw Mademoiselle Ricci?"

His tone was assurance itself. Kitty disdained to answer. Her slight
gesture bade him let her pass through; but he ignored it.

"I find her kind, Lady Kitty. She listens to me--I get sympathy from
her."

"And you want sympathy?"

Her tone stung him. "As a hungry man wants food --as an artist wants
beauty. But I know where I shall <i>not</i> get it."

"That is always a gain!" said Kitty, throwing back her little head. "Mr.
Cliffe, pray let me bid you good-bye."

He suddenly made a step forward. "Lady Kitty!"--his deep-set, imperious
eyes searched her face--"I can't restrain myself. Your look--your
expression--go to my heart. Laugh at me if you like. It's true. What
have you been doing with yourself?"

He bent towards her, scrutinizing every delicate feature, and, as it
seemed, shaken with agitation. She breathed fast.

"Mr. Cliffe, you must know that any sympathy from you to me--is an
insult! Kindly let me pass."

He, too, flushed deeply.

"Insult is a hard word, Lady Kitty. I regret that poem."

She swept forward in silence, but he still stood in the way.

"I wrote it--almost in delirium. Ah, well"--he shook his head
impatiently--"if you don't believe me, let it be. I am not the man I
was. The perspective of things is altered for me." His voice fell.
"Women and children in their blood--heroic trust--and brute hate--the
stars for candles--the high peaks for friends--those things have come
between me and the past. But you are right; we had better not talk any
more. I hear old Federigo coming up the stairs. Good-night, Lady
Kitty--good-night!"

He opened the door. She passed him, and, to her own intense annoyance, a
bunch of pale roses she carried at her belt brushed against the
doorway, so that one broke and fell. She