ed very much to come."

"The women whom you know," she said quietly,--"I suppose you do know
some,--would not have done such a thing. Some people say that I am
mad! One may as well try to live up to one's reputation; I have taken
a little of the license of madness."

"It was unusual, perhaps," he admitted; "but who is not weary of usual
things? I gathered from your note that you had something to explain. I
was anxious to hear what that explanation could be."

She was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed upon vacancy, a faint
smile at the corners of her lips.

"First," she said, "let me tell you this. I want to have you
understand why I was anxious that you should not think worse of me
than I deserved. I am rather a spoilt woman. I have grown used to
having my own way; I wanted to know you, I have wanted to for some
time. We have passed one another day after day; I knew quite well all
the time who you were, and it seemed so stupid! Do you know once or
twice I have had an insane desire to come right up to your chair and
break in upon your meditations,--hold out my hand and make you talk to
me? That would have been worse than this, would it not? But I firmly
believe that I should have done it some day. So you see I wrote my
little note in self-defence."

"I do not know that I should have been so completely surprised after
all," he said. "I, too, have felt something of what you have
expressed. I have been interested in your comings and your goings. But
then you knew that, or you would never have written to me."

"One sacrifices so much," she murmured, "on the altars of the modern
Goddess. We live in such a tiny compass,--nothing ever happens. It is
only psychologically that one's emotions can be reached at all. Events
are quite out of date. I am speaking from a woman's point of view."

"You should have lived," he said, smiling, "in the days of Joan of
Arc."

"No doubt," she answered, "I should have found that equally dull. What
I was endeavouring to do was, first of all to plead some justification
for wanting to know you. For a woman there is nothing left but the
study of personalities."

"Mine," he answered with a faint gleam in his eyes, "is very much at
your service."

"I am going to take you at your word," she warned him.

"You will be very much disappointed. I am perfectly willing to be
dissected, but the result will be inadequate."

She leaned back amongst the cushions and looked at him thoughtfully.