nted
it. Now, scarcely the sense of the words reached her.

"Which would you prefer, a theatre or a music hall afterwards?"

"Whichever you like."

"Oh, we'll say a music hall, then. In a theatre, you're so bound to
listen for the sake of the other people who want to hear. We'll go
to the Palace."

She nodded her head in assent. There was no concealment of her mood,
no hiding of her unhappiness. Even with this man above all others,
whom she well knew was thoroughly aware of the relationship that
existed between Traill and herself, she could not shake off the
entangling folds of her depression, lift eyes that were laughing,
throw head back and face it out until the ordeal of being in his
company was over. At moments she tried--drove a smile to her lips
for him to see; but she felt that it did not convince him; knew that
it utterly failed to convince herself. When he began to speak about
Traill, it faded completely from her expression.

"Jack's gone to a theatre to-night, hasn't he?" he asked ingenuously,
when they had half struggled through the courses.

"Yes--"

"Duke of York's, isn't it?"

"Yes--I think it is."

He watched her closely, but her eyes were lowered persistently to
her plate, or wandering aimlessly from table to table, never meeting
his. The thought that this man might guess the running of the current
of events, stung her to some show of pride that yet was not keen enough,
not great enough in itself to master, even for the moment, the despair
within. All the making up for the part it lent; but the acting of
it was beyond her.

"You've met his sister, Mrs. Durlacher--haven't you?" he asked
presently.

She saw no motive in this. She felt thankful for it--glad to be able
to say that she had.

"She was at Prince's the other day when I was there and she told me
that Jack had taken you down to Apsley."

"Yes, I went down with him in April."

"Lovely place--isn't it?"

"Yes, I thought it was wonderful. Did Mrs. Durlacher talk to you about
me at all?"

She could not hold herself from that curiosity. Into her voice she
drilled all the orderliness of casual inquiry; but give way to it
she must. Devenish thought of all the things that Traill's sister
had said to him; he thought of the many others, far more potent, that
she had left unsaid in the silent parenthesis of insinuation.

"She said how pretty she thought you were," he replied.

Had he thought that would please her? Scarcely. If he kn