She warmly squeezed my hand, and I
returned the attention with _empressement_. For a few minutes we
exchanged polite compliments, and then she sprung upon me in her
tender confident tones, a request so preposterous that my rapidly
flitting courage was stimulated to return. Be brave, I murmured to
myself, attack boldly, say "No," and you will be saved for ever.

"I deeply regret, madame," said I coldly, "that it is not possible for
me to accede to your wishes." It was done, and I breathed more freely
though the sweat broke out on my forehead.

Her eyes opened upon me with the pained surprised look of a deeply
disappointed child. "Oh, Mr. Copplestone," she moaned, "and I thought
that you were my friend."

I clutched tightly at the arms of my faithful chair and held to my
programme of heroic boldness.

"You shouldn't have asked me such a question. You really
shouldn't--you know you shouldn't."

Her eyelids flickered, and the violet pools which they uncovered
glittered with a moisture which was not of tears, and she laughed,
laughed, and continued to laugh with the deepest enjoyment.

"I wanted to see how much you would stand," said she at last.

From that moment her spell over me was broken, and we became friends.
I admired her as much as ever, but she was no longer the all-devouring
siren. I could say "no" to her as easily as to the most dowdy and
unbeautiful of female axe-grinders.

"Will you permit me to offer you a cup of tea so as to wash from your
mouth the unpleasant taste of my brutal refusal?"

"I will," said Madame Gilbert graciously.

We issued from my office and betook ourselves to a pleasant shop where
we could drink tea and nibble cakes, and talk without being overheard.
Madame Gilbert, I observed, had a healthy appetite.

We talked of ourselves and exchanged delicious confidences. "You have
asked me many questions," I said. "May I ask one of you? What are you?
You are not English, and you are not, I think, French."

"Shall I also learn a lesson from you in unkindness and say 'No'?" she
inquired. "But it would be cruel, for you have really been quite nice
to me. I will reveal the secret of my birth." She put up one hand and
began to tick off the countries which had been privileged to play a
part in her origin and education. "My father was a Swede--one; my
mother was an Irishwoman--two. I was born at Cork in Ireland, but
remember nothing about it, for my father died when I was three years
old,