ike a serpent about to
spring.

At last, however, James was obliged to take his leave.

"I've stayed an unconscionable time."

"Have you? I've not noticed it."

Did she care for him? He took her hand to say good-bye, and the pressure
sent the blood racing through his veins. He remembered vividly the
passionate embrace of their last farewell. He thought then that he
should never see her again, and it was Fate which had carried him to her
feet. Oh, how he longed now to take her in his arms and to cover her
soft mouth with his kisses!

"What are you doing this evening?" she said.

"Nothing."

"Would you like to take me to the Carlton? You remember you promised."

"Oh, that is good of you! Of course I should like it!"

At last he could not hide the fire in his heart, and the simple words
were said so vehemently that Mrs. Wallace looked up in surprise. She
withdrew the hand which he was still holding.

"Very well. You may fetch me at a quarter to eight."

* * *

After taking Mrs. Wallace home, James paced the streets for an hour in a
turmoil of wild excitement. They had dined at the Carlton expensively,
as was her wish, and then, driving to the Empire, James had taken a box.
Through the evening he had scarcely known how to maintain his calm, how
to prevent himself from telling her all that was in his heart. After the
misery he had gone through, he snatched at happiness with eager grasp,
determined to enjoy to the full every single moment of it. He threw all
scruples to the wind. He was sick and tired of holding himself in; he
had checked himself too long, and now, at all hazards, must let himself
go. Bridle and curb now were of no avail. He neither could nor would
suppress his passion, though it devoured him like a raging fire. He
thought his conscientiousness absurd. Why could he not, like other men,
take the brief joy of life? Why could he not gather the roses without
caring whether they would quickly fade? "Let me eat, drink, and be
merry," he cried, "for to-morrow I die!"

It was Wednesday, and on the Saturday he had promised to return to
Little Primpton. But he put aside all thought of that, except as an
incentive to make the most of his time. He had wrestled with temptation
and been overcome, and he gloried in his defeat. He would make no
further effort to stifle his love. His strength had finally deserted
him, and he had no will to protect himself; he would give himself over
entirely to his passion, a