er cheek and a splendid dramatic
face. "How you hate us! Yes, at bottom, below your little cold taste,
you _hate_ us!" she repeated.

He coloured too, met her eyes, looked into them a minute, seemed to
accept the imputation and then said quickly: "Give it up: come away with
me."

"Come away with you?"

"Leave this place. Give it up."

"You brought me here, you insisted it should be only you, and now you
must stay," she declared with a head-shake and a high manner. "You
should know what you want, dear Mr. Sherringham."

"I do--I know now. Come away before you see her."

"Before----?" she seemed to wonder.

"She's success, this wonderful Voisin, she's triumph, she's full
accomplishment: the hard, brilliant realisation of what I want to avert
for you." Miriam looked at him in silence, the cold light still in her
face, and he repeated: "Give it up--give it up."

Her eyes softened after a little; she smiled and then said: "Yes, you're
better than poor Dashwood."

"Give it up and we'll live for ourselves, in ourselves, in something
that can have a sanctity."

"All the same you do hate us," the girl went on.

"I don't want to be conceited, but I mean that I'm sufficiently fine and
complicated to tempt you. I'm an expensive modern watch with a wonderful
escapement--therefore you'll smash me if you can."

"Never--never!" she said as she got up. "You tell me the hour too well."
She quitted her companion and stood looking at Gerome's fine portrait of
the pale Rachel invested with the antique attributes of tragedy. The
rise of the curtain had drawn away most of the company. Peter, from his
bench, watched his friend a little, turning his eyes from her to the
vivid image of the dead actress and thinking how little she suffered by
the juxtaposition. Presently he came over and joined her again and she
resumed: "I wonder if that's what your cousin had in his mind."

"My cousin----?"

"What was his name? Mr. Dormer; that first day at Madame Carre's. He
offered to paint my portrait."

"I remember. I put him up to it."

"Was he thinking of this?"

"I doubt if he has ever seen it. I daresay I was."

"Well, when we go to London he must do it," said Miriam.

"Oh there's no hurry," Peter was moved to reply.

"Don't you want my picture?" asked the girl with one of her successful
touches.

"I'm not sure I want it from _him_. I don't know quite what he'd make of
you."

"He looked so clever--I liked him. I saw him aga