it and none of the trouble."

"You mean," he replied, "that I should have had all the infamy and none
of the satisfaction."

As they drove to the studio he took her hand and said: "One kiss."

"Certainly not," she replied, taking it away. "Certainly not. Do you
want me to be sorry I came out with you?"

"I should like you to be glad," he replied. "Never mind, Miss Chivvey,
forgive me. I won't ask you out again."

"Why not? Haven't I been nice?"

"Very nice. Too nice, too charming, too dangerous." He kissed her hand
respectfully. "Good-bye. I'm angry with myself."

"Never mind, I'll forgive you," she laughed flippantly.

He drove away. Yes, one loses one's bearings travelling about alone,
taking _jeunes filles_ to the theatre who live alone in Paris, say
anything, have no chaperons, and are prudes all the time.

"Confound it. I've made a fool of myself. But I must go and see Rupert."

He lunched with that young man that day and told him word for word what
had passed, even to the incident in the cab.

He need not have been so expansive nor have humbled himself so much.

Rupert had not for a moment misconstrued their presence at the theatre.

Also he was not in the least surprised about the incident in the cab.

Rupert was on the whole irritating. Nigel was glad to leave him.

CHAPTER XXXV

TWO WOMEN

Bertha was very much surprised at Mary's wishing to see her. She thought
it most extraordinary and was much inclined to refuse, remembering the
strangely insulting way Mary had behaved at her party. Nigel had
apologised indeed; had implored for forgiveness; and she had written to
say it was forgotten. But it is not an easy thing to forget.

Percy had given a mild version of his interview with Nigel. He had also
told her now about the destroyed letters. Bertha was certainly vexed
that she had not been told before. It would have, at least, prevented
her going to the party. However, she was soon tired of the subject and
agreed with Percy not to mention it again. Bertha was, as she said
herself, nothing of a harpist. She could not go on playing on one
string. She made up her mind to forget it. She had begun to do so when
Mary's telephone message reached her.

Bertha was sitting by the fire when Mary was shown in. She looked at her
most serene, her calmest and prettiest. It was not in her nature to bear
malice nor even to be angry for more than a few hours about anything. By
the end of that time she w