ave had enough of building properties, please,
and house building. I should like to hear a little about Beatrice."

Tavernake was dumb.

"I do not wish to talk about Beatrice," he declared, "until I understand
the cause of this estrangement between you."

Her eyes flashed angrily and her laugh sounded forced.

"Not even talk of her! My dear friend," she protested, "you scarcely
repay the confidence I am placing in you!"

"You mean the money?"

"Precisely," she continued. "I trust you, why I do not know--I suppose
because I am something of a physiognomist--with twelve thousand pounds
of my hard-earned savings. You refuse to trust me with even a few simple
particulars about the life of my own sister. Come, I don't think that
things are quite as they should be between us."

"Do you know where I first met your sister?" Tavernake asked.

She shook her head pettishly.

"How should I? You told me nothing."

"She was staying in a boarding-house where I lived," Tavernake went on.
"I think I told you that but nothing else. It was a cheap boarding-house
but she had not enough money to pay for her meals. She was tired of
life. She was in a desperate state altogether."

"Are you trying to tell me, or rather trying not to tell me, that
Beatrice was mad enough to think of committing suicide?" Elizabeth
inquired.

"She was in the frame of mind when such a step was possible," he
answered, gravely. "You remember that night when I first saw you in the
chemist's shop across the street? She had been very ill that evening,
very ill indeed. You could see for yourself the effect meeting you had
upon her."

Elizabeth nodded, and crumbled a little piece of roll between her
fingers. Then she leaned over the table towards Tavernake.

"She seemed terrified, didn't she? She hurried you away--she seemed
afraid."

"It was very noticeable," he admitted. "She was terrified. She dragged
me out of the place. A few minutes later she fainted in the cab."

Elizabeth smiled.

"Beatrice was always over-sensitive," she remarked. "Any sudden shock
unnerved her altogether. Are you terrified of me, too, Mr. Tavernake?"

"I don't know," he answered, frankly. "Sometimes I think that I am."

She laughed softly.

"Why?" she whispered.

He looked into her eyes and he felt abject. How was it possible to sit
within a few feet of her and remain sane!

"You are so wonderful," he said, in a low tone, "so different from any
one else in the world!