was finished in silence, and they pulled up before a
handsome, though somewhat sombre-looking house in a back street.

"My rooms are here," she remarked.

He stepped on to the pavement, and assisted her to alight. The thought
of leaving her so abruptly was painful to him, and yet he dreaded to
hear her invite him to go in with her; nevertheless, she did so.

"If you are not in a hurry, perhaps you will come in, and let me give
you a cup of tea," she said, looking him full in the face.

His heart sank. What was he to think now? And yet he was absurdly glad
that he was not to leave her.

"Do you mean it?" he asked.

"Of course! I should not have asked you else. Are you very much
shocked?" she added, with a mocking gleam in her eyes. "It is not
proper, is it! I confess I did not think of that. But do come," she
added, with a sudden bewitching smile.

"I shall be delighted," he answered, gravely enough, but truthfully.
He turned to pay the cabman, and followed her into the house.

"My rooms are upstairs," she remarked, leading the way. "The luxury of
a first floor is at present beyond me."

Her words pleased him, but their effect died away when she opened a
door on the first landing, and ushered him in. Such of the interior
of the house as he had seen was handsomely furnished, but the room in
which he stood was almost like a fairy chamber. Curtains divided it in
the centre, and beyond he could see a table laid for dinner.

"That half I use for a dining-room," she remarked, pointing towards it
with one of her gloves, which she had just taken off. "It makes this
room small, but it is a convenient arrangement. Do sit down!"

He bowed, but remained standing, with his elbow resting upon the
draped mantel-board. She took off her hat and coat, hanging them over
the back of a chair, and advanced towards him.

She was in her dancing dress, a floating mass of yellow draperies, and
the firelight gleamed strangely upon her dusky, perfect face, with its
olive colouring, and soft, glowing eyes. She came so close to him that
a faint odour from the handkerchief in her hand stole up to him.

He was playing with an ornament on the shelf, and his fingers
tightened convulsively around it. It snapped in two in his hand; he
did not notice it. He leaned forward towards her, and his strong voice
vibrated with feeling.

"And it was for this then, Adrea Kiros, that you ran away from the
convent St. Lucile! My God!"

CHAPTER I