u in my room and to
talk to you of my books. Look, is it not pretty?"

She threw open the door. It was a tiny little apartment, in which
all the appointments and the walls were white, except for here and
there a little French gilded furniture of the best period. A great
bowl of scarlet geraniums stood in one corner. Though the windows
were open, the blinds were closely drawn, so that it was almost like
twilight.

"You won't come for five minutes?" she begged.

"Yes!" he answered, almost savagely. "Come in and shut the door. I
want to talk to you--not about your books. Yes, let us sit
down--where you will. That couch is big enough for both of us."

The sudden change in his manner was puzzling. The two had changed
places. The struggle was at an end, but it was scarcely as a victim
that Arnold leaned towards her.

"Give me your hands," he said.

"Arnold!" she whispered.

He took them both and drew her towards him.

"What is it you want?" he asked. "Not me--I know that. You are
beautiful, you know that I admire you, you know that a day like this
is like a day out of some wonderful fairy story for me. I am young
and foolish, I suppose, just as easily led away as most young men
are. Do you want to make me believe impossible things? You look at
me from the corners of your eyes and you laugh. Do you want to make
use of me in any way? You're not a flirt. You are a wife, and a good
wife. Do you know that men less impressionable than I have been
made slaves for life by women less beautiful than you, without any
effort on their part, even? No, I won't be laughed at! This is
reality! What is it you want?" He leaned towards her. "Do you want
me to kiss you? Do you want me to hold you in my arms? I could do
it. I should like to do it. I will, if you tell me to. Only
afterwards--"

"Afterwards, what?"

"I shall do what I should have done if your husband hadn't taken me
into his office--I should enlist," he said. "I mayn't be
particularly ambitious, but I've no idea of hanging about, a
penniless adventurer, dancing at a woman's heels. Be honest with me.
At heart I do believe in you, Fenella. What is it you want?"

She leaned back on the couch and laughed. It was no longer the
subtle, provoking laugh of the woman of the world. She laughed
frankly and easily, with all the lack of restraint to which her
twenty-four years entitled her.

"My dear boy," she declared, "you have conquered. I give in. You
have seen through me.