had in his
study; but, remembering that he had not seen her for three weeks, he
held out his hand and said, rather frigidly:

"Good-evening, Zita; how are you?"

She put up her face to be kissed, but he moved past as though he had
not seen the gesture, and took up a vase to put the pyrus in. The next
instant the door was flung wide open, and the collie, rushing into the
room, performed an ecstatic dance round him, barking and whining with
delight. He put down the flowers and stooped to pat the dog.

"Well, Shaitan, how are you, old man? Yes, it's really I. Shake hands,
like a good dog!"

The hard, sullen look came into Zita's face.

"Shall we go to dinner?" she asked coldly. "I ordered it for you at my
place, as you wrote that you were coming this evening."

He turned round quickly.

"I am v-v-very sorry; you sh-should not have waited for me! I will just
get a bit tidy and come round at once. P-perhaps you would not mind
putting these into water."

When he came into Zita's dining room she was standing before a mirror,
fastening one of the sprays into her dress. She had apparently made up
her mind to be good-humoured, and came up to him with a little cluster
of crimson buds tied together.

"Here is a buttonhole for you; let me put it in your coat."

All through dinner-time he did his best to be amiable, and kept up a
flow of small-talk, to which she responded with radiant smiles. Her
evident joy at his return somewhat embarrassed him; he had grown so
accustomed to the idea that she led her own life apart from his, among
such friends and companions as were congenial to her, that it had never
occurred to him to imagine her as missing him. And yet she must have
felt dull to be so much excited now.

"Let us have coffee up on the terrace," she said; "it is quite warm this
evening."

"Very well. Shall I take your guitar? Perhaps you will sing."

She flushed with delight; he was critical about music and did not often
ask her to sing.

On the terrace was a broad wooden bench running round the walls. The
Gadfly chose a corner with a good view of the hills, and Zita, seating
herself on the low wall with her feet on the bench, leaned back against
a pillar of the roof. She did not care much for scenery; she preferred
to look at the Gadfly.

"Give me a cigarette," she said. "I don't believe I have smoked once
since you went away."

"Happy thought! It's just s-s-smoke I want to complete my bliss."

She leaned fo