ch I made to myself will not now be kept."

She rose to her feet a little uneasily, shook out her fluffy morning
gown, and retreated towards the door leading to the apartments beyond.
He watched her without movement. She picked up a pile of letters from a
table in the middle of the room, glanced at them, and threw them down.

"It is as well," she warned him, "to keep all promises."

"As for this one," he replied, "I have no responsibility save to myself.
I absolve myself. I give myself permission to speak. Your father is even
wishful that I should do so. I crave from you, Naida, the happiness
which only you can bring into my life. I ask you to become my wife."

She looked at him without visible change of expression. Her lips,
however, were a little parted. The air of aloofness with which she moved
through the world seemed suddenly more marked. He would have been a
brave man, or one entirely without perceptions, who would have advanced
towards her at that moment.

"That is quite impossible," she pronounced.

"I do not admit it," he contended. "No, I will never admit that. The
fates brought us together. It will take something stronger than fate to
drive us apart. I had not meant to speak yet. I had meant to wait until
the great pact was sealed and the glory to come assured, but during
these last few days I have suffered. A strange fancy has come to me. I
seem to feel something between us, so I speak before it can grow. I
speak because without you life for me would be a thing not worth having.
You are my life and my soul. You will not send me away?"

Naida was troubled but unhesitating. It was perhaps at that moment that
a hidden characteristic of her features showed itself. Her mouth,
sometimes almost too voluptuous in its softness, had straightened into a
firm line of scarlet. The deeper violet of her eyes had gone. So a woman
might have looked who watched suffering unmoved, the woman of the bull
or prize fight.

"I am glad that you have spoken, Oscar," she said. "I know a thing now
which has been a source of doubt and anxiety to me. What you ask is
impossible. I do not love you. I shall never love you. A few days ago, I
asked myself the very question you have just asked me, and I could not
answer it. Now I know."

Pain and anger struggled in his face. He was suffering, without a doubt,
but for a moment it seemed as though the anger would predominate. His
great shoulders heaved, his hands were clenched until the