her caprices, was virtually breaking her side of the
treaty between them; that she was exacting from him the full amount of
servitude and devotion which an open engagement would demand, and yet she
had agreed to deny any such engagement between them openly--it was, he
felt, more than he could continue to bear with meekness.

Meekness, indeed, was in no way Maurice Kynaston's distinguishing
characteristic. He was masterful and imperious by nature; to be the slave
of any woman was neither pleasant nor profitable to him. Honour, indeed,
had bound him to Helen, and had he loved her she might have led him. Her
position gave her a certain hold over him, and she knew how to appeal to
his heart; but he loved her not, and to control his will and his spirit
was beyond her power.

Maurice said to himself that he would put a stop to this system of
persecution once and for all--that this interview, which she herself had
contrived, should be made the opportunity of a few forcible words, that
should frighten her into submission.

So he stood fretting, and fuming, and raging, waiting for her at the foot
of the stairs.

There was a soft rustle, as of a woman's dress, behind him. He turned
sharply round.

Halfway down the stairs came a woman whom he had never seen before.
A black velvet dress, made high in the throat, with a wide collar of
heavy lace upon her shoulders, hung clingingly about the outlines of her
tall and perfect figure; her hands, with some lace ruffles falling about
her wrists, were simply crossed before her. The light of a distant
hanging-lamp shone down upon her, just catching one diamond star that
glittered among the thick coils of her hair--she wore no other ornament.
She came down the stairs slowly, almost lingeringly, with a certain
grace in her movements, and without a shadow of embarrassment or
self-consciousness.

Maurice drew aside to let her pass him--looking at her--for how could he
choose but look? But when she reached the bottom of the steps, she turned
her face towards him.

"You are Maurice--are you not?" she said, and put forth both her hands
towards him.

An utter bewilderment as to who she was made him speechless; his mind had
been full of Helen and his own troubles; everything else had gone out of
his head. She coloured a little, still holding out her hands to him.

"I am Vera," she said, simply, and there was a little deprecating appeal
in the words as though she would have added, "Be my