felt something of the pungency of life, the thrill
of new and appealing surroundings, as he sat in his high-backed chair,
sipping his wonderful wine, eating almost mechanically what was set
before him, fascinated through all his being by his strange company.

For three days he had cast occasional glances at this man, seated in
the criminal dock with a gaoler on either side of him, his fine,
nervous features gaining an added distinction from the sordidness of his
surroundings. Now, in the garb of civilisation, seated amidst luxury to
which he was obviously accustomed, with a becoming light upon his face
and this strange, fascinating flow of words proceeding always from his
lips, the man, from every external point of view, seemed amongst the
chosen ones of the world. The contrast was in itself amazing. And then
the woman! Francis looked at her but seldom, and when he did it was with
a curious sense of mental disturbance; poignant but unanalysable.

It was amazing to see her here, opposite the man of whom she had told
him that ghastly story, mistress of his house, to all appearance his
consort, apparently engrossed in his polished conversation, yet with
that subtle withholding of her real self which Francis rather imagined
than felt, and which somehow seemed to imply her fierce resentment of
her husband's re-entry into the arena of life. It was a situation so
strange that Francis, becoming more and more subject to its influence,
was inclined to wonder whether he had not met with some accident on
his way from the Court, and whether this was not one of the heated
nightmares following unconsciousness.

"Tell me," he asked his host, during one of the brief pauses in the
conversation, "have you ever tried to analyse this interest of yours
in human beings and crowded cities, this hatred of solitude and empty
spaces?"

Oliver Hilditch smiled thoughtfully, and gazed at a salted almond which
he was just balancing between the tips of his fingers.

"I think," he said simply, "it is because I have no soul."

CHAPTER VI

The three diners lingered for only a short time over their dessert.
Afterwards, they passed together into a very delightful library on the
other side of the round, stone-paved hall. Hilditch excused himself for
a moment.

"I have some cigars which I keep in my dressing-room," he explained,
"and which I am anxious for you to try. There is an electric stove there
and I can regulate the temperature."

H