o do with you.'

He turned away, and, in the violence of the movement, knocked over a
little toy chair, one of those perfectly useless, and no less ugly,
impediments which stand about the floor of a well-furnished
drawing-room. Too angry to stoop and set the object on its legs
again, he strode towards the door. Louise followed him.

'You are going?' she asked, in a struggling voice.

Cobb paid no attention, and all but reached the door. She laid a
hand upon him.

'You are going?'

The touch and the voice checked him. Again he turned abruptly and
seized the hand that rested upon his arm.

'Why are you stopping me? What do you want with me? I'm to help you
out of the fix you've got into, is that it? I'm to find you a
lodging, and take no end of trouble, and then in a week's time get a
letter to say that you want nothing more to do with me.'

Louise was pale with anger and fear, and as many other emotions as
her little heart and brain could well hold. She did not look her
best--far from it but the man saw something in her eyes which threw
a fresh spell upon him. Still grasping her one hand, he caught her
by the other arm, held her as far off as he could, and glared
passionately as he spoke.

'What do you want?'

'You know--I've told you the truth--'

His grasp hurt her; she tried to release herself, and moved
backwards. For a moment Cobb left her free; she moved backward
again, her eyes drawing him on. She felt her power, and could not be
content with thus much exercise of it.

'You may go if you like. But you understand, if you do--'

Cobb, inflamed with desire and jealousy, made an effort to recapture
her. Louise sprang away from him; but immediately behind her lay the
foolish little chair which he had kicked over, and just beyond
_that_ stood the scarcely less foolish little table which supported
the heavy lamp, with its bowl of coloured glass and its spreading
yellow shade. She tottered back, fell with all her weight against
the table, and brought the lamp crashing to the floor. A shriek of
terror from Louise, from her lover a shout of alarm, blended with
the sound of breaking glass. In an instant a great flame shot up
half way to the ceiling. The lamp-shade was ablaze; the
much-embroidered screen, Mrs. Mumford's wedding present, forthwith
caught fire from a burning tongue that ran along the carpet; and
Louise's dress, well sprinkled with paraffin, aided the
conflagration. Cobb, of course, saw only the