round. She was coming towards him with her arms outstretched,
her eyes were full of tears, there were sobs in her voice.

"I am so lonely," she begged. "I have thought of you so much. Don't go
away unkindly. Stay with me for this evening, at any rate. You can see
Beatrice at any time. It is I who need you most now."

He looked around at the splendid apartment; he looked at the woman whose
fingers, glittering with jewels, rested upon his shoulders. Then he
thought of Beatrice in her shabby black gown and wan little face, and
very gently he removed her hands.

"No," he said, "I do not think that you need me any more than I need
you. This is a caprice of yours. You know it and I know it. Is it worth
while to play with one another?"

Her hands fell to her sides. She turned half away but she said
nothing. Tavernake, with a sudden impulse which had in it nothing of
passion--very little, indeed, of affection--lifted her fingers to his
lips and passed out of the room. He descended the stairs, filled with
a wonderful sense of elation, a buoyancy of spirit which he could not
understand. As he walked blithely to his hotel, however, he began to
realize how much he had dreaded this interview. He was a free man, after
all. The spell was broken. He could think of her now as she deserved to
be thought of, as a consummate woman of the world, selfish, heartless,
conscienceless. He was well out of her toils. It was nothing to him if
even he had known that at that moment she was lying upon the sofa to
which she had staggered as he left the room, weeping bitterly.

For over an hour Tavernake endured the smells and the bad atmosphere of
that miserable little music-hall, watching eagerly each time the numbers
were changed. Then at last, towards the end of the program, the manager
appeared in front.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "I regret very much to inform
you that owing to the indisposition of the young lady, Miss Beatrice
Franklin and her father are unable to appear to-night. I have pleasure
in announcing an extra turn, namely the Sisters De Vere in their
wonderful burlesque act."

There was a murmur of disapprobation mingled with some cheering.
Tavernake left his place and walked around to the back of the hall.
Presently the manager came out to him.

"I am sorry to trouble you, sir," Tavernake said, "but I heard your
announcement just now from the front. Can you give me the address of
Professor Franklin? I am a friend, a