till I came home.... Let's stroll along, shall
we? She's looking out for number two; but she wants money, so there's no
danger for us!"

James rose mechanically, and putting on his hat, accompanied Barker, all
unwitting of the thunder-blow that his words had been.... Mrs. Wallace
was at home. James went upstairs, forgetting everything but that the
woman he loved was free--free! His heart beat so that he could scarcely
breathe; he was afraid of betraying his agitation, and had to make a
deliberate effort to contain himself.

Mrs. Wallace gave a little cry of surprise on seeing James.... She had
not changed. The black gown she wore, fashionable, but slightly
fantastic, set off the dazzling olive clearness of her skin and the rich
colour of her hair. James turned pale with the passion that consumed
him; he could hardly speak.

"You wretch!" she cried, her eyes sparkling, "I've written to you
twice--once to congratulate you, and then to ask you to come and see
me--and you took not the least notice."

"Barker has just told me you wrote. I am so sorry."

"Oh, well, I thought you might not receive the letters. I'll forgive
you."

She wore Indian anklets on her wrists and a barbaric chain about her
neck, so that even in the London lodging-house she preserved a
mysterious Oriental charm. In her movements there was a sinuous feline
grace which was delightful, and yet rather terrifying. One fancied that
she was not quite human, but some cruel animal turned into the likeness
of a woman. Vague stories floated through the mind of Lamia, and the
unhappy end of her lovers.

The three of them began to talk, chattering of the old days in India, of
the war. Mrs. Wallace bemoaned her fate in having to stay in town when
all smart people had left. Barker told stories. James did not know how
he joined in the flippant conversation; he wondered at his self-command
in saying insignificant things, in laughing heartily, when his whole
soul was in a turmoil. At length the adjutant went away, and James was
left alone with Mrs. Wallace.

"D'you wish me to go?" he asked. "You can turn me out if you do."

"Oh, I should--without hesitation," she retorted, laughing; "but I'm
bored to death, and I want you to amuse me."

Strangely enough, James felt that the long absence had created no
barrier between them. Thinking of Mrs. Wallace incessantly, sometimes
against his will, sometimes with a fierce delight, holding with her
imaginary conversatio