ell, I dare not tell you what I read in your eyes."

She laughed nervously. "Is it so bad as that?" she said, and began to
speak of other matters.

She was intending to send a picture to the Academy, and felt quite
hopeful about it. She described it to him, and he made appropriate
replies; but though he watched her intently all the time he was hardly
conscious of what she was saying. He tried to pull himself together.

"What are we to do this evening? A theatre?"

"I don't think so. I'm tired of theatres. I'm tired of everything. We
will talk for a little in the lounge, and then I will take my train back
again and go through the farce of trying to go to sleep."

"You, too, have not been sleeping well then? Of course, you won't go
back in the train. I shall drive you back."

"It is frightfully good of you, but I don't really deserve so much
kindness to-night. I have the feeling all the time that I am behaving
badly, and talking like an idiot."

"Come on into the lounge. We will both talk like idiots."

They found a secluded corner, and a waiter brought them coffee. Elton
watched the man's back as he went away. Then he turned to Rosamond.

"Now then," he said, "about our conversation on the telephone."

She paused before replying, breathing quickly, and then she spoke very
rapidly and in a low voice.

"Yes, you love me. I have known that for a long time. I wanted you to
love me. You know the rest, don't you? I adore you. There's no one but
you in the world. Now I've said it. It was bound to happen sooner or
later. It's over, and we can never speak to one another again."

He rose from his place. "Come," he said, "I am going to take you home. I
had the car waiting here in case we wanted to go to the theatre."

He signed to a waiter.

"Go and find my car, Mr Elton's car," he said to the man, "and tell the
driver he won't be wanted to-night. He is to go home."

Rosamond looked at him wonderingly. "I--I think I see."

"Of course. Get your cloak quickly, dear."

He put her into the taxi and gave the address, not of the little flat
where she lived, but of her studio.

"Things are better," said Mrs Halward to her husband. "I was afraid at
one time that there was going to be serious trouble between Harry and
his wife about that wretched Fayre. I gave him a word of warning at the
time, and I am convinced it did good."

"What makes you think so?" said her husband, not greatly interested.

"Didn't you notice