back among the cushions
and closed her eyes, her ungloved hand rested almost caressingly upon
his. He leaned forward. There were new things in the world--he was sure
of it now, sure though they were coming to him through the mists, coming
to him so vaguely that even while he obeyed he did not understand.
Her full, soft lips were slightly parted; her heavily-fringed eyelids
closed; her deep brown hair, which had escaped bounds a little, drooping
over her ear. His fingers suddenly clasped hers tightly.

"Beatrice!" he whispered.

She sat up with a start, her eyes questioning his, the breath coming
quickly through her parted lips.

"Once you asked me to kiss you, Beatrice," he said. "To-night--I am
going to."

She made no attempt to repulse him. He took her in his arms and
kissed her. Even in that moment he knew that he had made a mistake.
Nevertheless, he kissed her again and again, crushing her lips against
his.

"Please let me go, Leonard," she begged at last.

He obeyed at once. He understood quite well that some strange thing had
happened. It seemed to him during those next few minutes that everything
which had passed that night was a dream, that this vivid picture of a
life more intense, making larger demands upon the senses than anything
he had yet experienced, was a mirage, a thing which would live only
in his memory, a life in which he could never take any part. He had
blundered; he had come into a new world and he had blundered. A sense of
guilt was upon him. He had a sudden wild desire to cry out that it was
Elizabeth whom he had kissed. Beatrice was sitting upright in her place,
her head turned a little away from him. He felt that she was expecting
him to speak--that there were inevitable words which he should say. His
silence was a confession. He would have lied but the seal was upon his
lips. So the moment passed, and Tavernake had taken another step forward
towards his destiny! ...

As he helped her out of the cab, her fingers tightened for a moment upon
his hand. She patted it gently as she passed out before him into the
house, leaving the door open. When he had paid the cabman and followed,
she had disappeared. He looked into the sitting-room; it was empty.
Overhead, he could hear her footsteps as she ascended to her room.

CHAPTER XIII. AN EVENING CALL

In the morning, when he left for the city, she was not down. When he
came home in the evening, she was gone. Without removing his hat