ght you cared a straw whether I went or stayed----"

"Haven't I shown you that I care?"

"No, you haven't."

"Ted!" Audrey made that little word eloquent of pleading, reproachful
pathos; but he went on--

"For heaven's sake, don't talk any more rot about art and my genius!
Anybody can do it. Do you think that's what I want to hear from you?" He
checked himself suddenly. "I beg your pardon. Now I think we'll go on,
if you don't mind sitting a little longer."

"But I do mind. Either you're very rude, or--I can't understand you. Why
do you speak to me like this?" She had picked up her hat and begun
playing with its long pins. As she spoke she stabbed it savagely in the
crown. The nervous action of her hands contrasted oddly with the pensive
Madonna-like pose of her head, but the corners of her mouth were turned
up more than ever, and the tip of her little Roman nose was trembling.
Then she drew the pins slowly out of her hat, and made as if she would
put it on. Ted tried to reason, but he could only grasp two facts
clearly--that in another second she would be gone, and that if he left
things as they stood he would have to exchange London for Paris. He
leaned against the wall for support, and looked steadily at Audrey as he
spoke.

"You think me a devil, and I can only prevent that by making you think
me a fool. I don't care. I'm insane enough to love you--my curious
behaviour must have made that quite obvious. If you'll say that you care
for me a little bit, I won't go to Paris. If you won't, I'll go
to-morrow and stay there."

Audrey had known for some time that something like this would happen.
She had meant it to happen. From the day she first saw Ted Haviland, she
had made up her mind to be his destiny; and yet, now that it had
happened, though Ted's words made her heart beat uncomfortably fast, a
little voice in her brain kept on saying, "Not yet--not yet--not yet."
She sat down and tried to collect her thoughts. Ted would be sure to
begin again in another second. He did.

"Or if you don't care now, if you'll only say that you might care some
day, if you'll say that it's not an utter impossibility, I won't go.
I'll wait five years--ten years--on the off chance, and hold my tongue
about it too, if you tell me to."

Not yet--not yet--not yet.

"Audrey!"

She started as if a stranger had called her name suddenly, for the voice
was not like Ted's at all. Yet it was Ted, Ted in the shabby clothes she
had see