his possessions, whether
ancestral or merely material, in just that full and satisfied tone of
voice: the rich man's voice. She saw that he was already feeling the
influence of his surroundings, that he was glad the portrait of a
Countess of Altringham should occupy the central place in the principal
room of the exhibition, that the crowd about it should be denser there
than before any of the other pictures, and that he should be standing
there with Susy, letting her feel, and letting all the people about
them guess, that the day she chose she could wear the same name as his
pictured ancestress.

On the way back to her hotel, Strefford made no farther allusion to
their future; they chatted like old comrades in their respective corners
of the taxi. But as the carriage stopped at her door he said: "I must go
back to England the day after to-morrow, worse luck! Why not dine with
me to-night at the Nouveau Luxe? I've got to have the Ambassador and
Lady Ascot, with their youngest girl and my old Dunes aunt, the Dowager
Duchess, who's over here hiding from her creditors; but I'll try to get
two or three amusing men to leaven the lump. We might go on to a boite
afterward, if you're bored. Unless the dancing amuses you more...."

She understood that he had decided to hasten his departure rather than
linger on in uncertainty; she also remembered having heard the Ascots'
youngest daughter, Lady Joan Senechal, spoken of as one of the prettiest
girls of the season; and she recalled the almost exaggerated warmth of
the Ambassador's greeting at the private view.

"Of course I'll come, Streff dear!" she cried, with an effort at gaiety
that sounded successful to her own strained ears, and reflected itself
in the sudden lighting up of his face.

She waved a good-bye from the step, saying to herself, as she looked
after him: "He'll drive me home to-night, and I shall say 'yes'; and
then he'll kiss me again. But the next time it won't be nearly as
disagreeable."

She turned into the hotel, glanced automatically at the empty
pigeon-hole for letters under her key-hook, and mounted the stairs
following the same train of images. "Yes, I shall say 'yes' to-night,"
she repeated firmly, her hand on the door of her room. "That is, unless,
they've brought up a letter...." She never re-entered the hotel without
imagining that the letter she had not found below had already been
brought up.

Opening the door, she turned on the light and spran