she will be glad afterwards, and I--I shall be very grateful."

Tavernake felt that he was enveloped by something which he did not
understand, but his lack of experience was so great that he did not even
wonder at his insensibility.

"I shall keep my word to your sister," he announced, "in the spirit as
well as the letter. It is quite useless to ask me to do otherwise."

Elizabeth was at first amazed, then angry, how angry she scarcely knew
even herself. She had been a spoilt child, she had grown into a spoilt
woman. Men, at least, had been ready enough to do her bidding all
her life. Her beauty was of that peculiar kind, half seductive, half
pathetic, wholly irresistible. And now there had come this strange,
almost impossible person, against the armor of whose indifference she
had spent herself in vain. Her eyes filled with tears once more as she
looked at him, and Tavernake became uneasy. He glanced at the clock and
again toward the door.

"I think, if you will excuse me," he began,--

"Mr. Tavernake," she interrupted, "you are very unkind to me, very
unkind indeed."

"I cannot help it," he answered.

"If you knew everything," she continued, "you would not be so obstinate.
If Beatrice herself were here, if I could whisper something in her ear,
she would be only too thankful that I had found her out. Beatrice has
always misunderstood me, Mr. Tavernake. It is a little hard upon me, for
we are both so far away from home, from our friends."

"You can send her any message you like by me," Tavernake declared.
"If you like, I will wait while you write a letter. If you really have
anything to say to her which might change her opinion, you can write it,
can't you?"

She looked down at her hands--very beautiful and well-kept hands--and
sighed. This young man, with his unusual imperturbability and hateful
common sense, was getting on her nerves.

"It is so hard to write things, Mr. Tavernake," she said, "but, of
course, it is something to know that if the worst happens I can send her
a letter. I shall think about that for a short time. Meanwhile, there
is so much about her I would love to have you tell me. She has no money,
has she? How does she support herself?"

"She sings occasionally at concerts," Tavernake replied after a moment's
pause. "I suppose there is no harm in telling you that."

Elizabeth leaned towards him. She was very loth indeed to acknowledge
defeat. Once more her voice was deliciously soft, her