of my
friendship than to seek comfort from her society. Over tea we discussed
the weather and books and her statistical work. It was dull, but
unembarrassing. The grey twilight crept into the room and there was a
pause in our talk. She broke it by asking, without looking at me:

"When are we to have an evening together again?"

"Whenever you like, my dear Judith."

"To-morrow?"

"I am afraid not to-morrow," said I.

"Are you doing anything so very particular?"

"I have arranged to take Carlotta to the Empire."

"Oh," said Judith shortly, and I was left uncomfortable for another
spell of silence.

"It would be very kind, Marcus, to ask me to accompany you," she said at
last.

"Carlotta and myself?"

"Why not?"

"My question arose from the stupidity of surprise," said I. "I thought
you disliked Carlotta."

"By no means. I should be glad to make her further acquaintance. Any one
that interests you must also be interesting to me."

"In that case," said I, "your coming will give us both the greatest
possible pleasure."

"I haven't had a merry evening for ever so long."

"We will dine somewhere first and have supper afterwards. The whole
gamut of merriment. Toute la lyre. And you shall have," I added, "some
of your favourite Veuve Cliquot."

"It will be charming," said Judith, politely.

In fact, politeness has been the dominant note of her attitude to-day,
a sober restraint of manner such as she would adopt when rather tired
towards an ordinary acquaintance. Has she reconciled herself to the
inevitable and taken this Empire frolic as a graceful method of showing
it? I should like to believe so, but the course is scarcely consistent
with that motor of illogic which she is pleased to call her temperament.
I am puzzled.

Her smile as we parted sent a chill through me, being the smile of a
mask instead of a woman's face; and it was not the face of Judith. I
don't anticipate much merriment tomorrow evening.

At Carlotta's suggestion, I have sent a line to Pasquale to ask him to
join us. His gay wit will lend to the entertainment a specious air of
revelry which Carlotta will take as genuine.

I have often thought lately of the hopeless passion of Alfonso the
Magnanimous of Naples, as set forth by Pope Pius II in his Commentaries;
for I am beginning to take a morbid interest in the unhappy love affairs
of other men and to institute comparisons. If they have lived through
the torment, why should not I?