d you know?"

"I know; I see it," said Madame von Marwitz. "But a man's room expresses
a man's past. One cannot complain of that."

They went to the library. Madame von Marwitz had described it with
singular accuracy. Gregory rose from his letters and his eyes went from
her face to Karen's, both showing their traces of tears.

"It is _au revoir_, then," said Madame von Marwitz, standing before him,
her arm round Karen's shoulders. "I am happy in my child's happiness,
Mr. Jardine. You have made her happy, and I thank you. You will lend her
to me, sometimes? You will be generous with me and let me see her?"

"Of course; whenever you want to; whenever she wants to," said Gregory,
leaning his hands on the back of his chair and tilting it a little while
he smiled the fullest acquiescence.

Madame von Marwitz's eyes brooded on him. "That is kind," she said
gently.

"Oh no, it isn't," Gregory returned.

"I think," said Madame von Marwitz, becoming even more gentle, "that you
misunderstand my meaning. When people love, it is hard sometimes not to
be selfish in the joy of love, and the lesser claims tend to be
forgotten. I only ask that you should make it easy for Karen to come to
me."

To this Gregory did not reply. He continued to tilt his chair and to
smile at Madame von Marwitz.

"This husband of yours, Karen," said Madame von Marwitz, "does not
understand me yet. You must interpret me to him. Adieu, Mr. Jardine.
Will you come with me alone to the door, Karen. It is our first farewell
in a home I do not give you."

She gave Gregory her hand. They left him and went down the passage
together. Madame von Marwitz kept her arm round the girl's shoulders,
but its grasp had tightened.

"My child! my own child!" she murmured, as, at the door, she turned and
clasped her. Her voice strove with deep emotion.

"Dear, dear Tante," said Karen, also with a faltering voice.

Madame von Marwitz achieved an uncertain smile. "Farewell, my dear one.
I bless you. My blessing be upon you." Then, on the threshold she
paused. "Try to make your husband like me a little, my Karen," she said.

Karen did not come back to him in the smoking-room and Gregory presently
got up and went to look for her. He found her in the drawing-room,
sitting in the twilight, her elbow on her knee, her chin in her hand. He
did not know what she could be feeling; the fact that dominated in his
own mind was that her guardian had made her weep.

"Well, dar