s unnecessary that all Naples should take part in our interview,"
she said. She sat down, turning to him, leaning a little towards him.

"You do not deserve that I should come back, you know, Dickie," she
continued. "You both deserted and deceived me. That is hardly
chivalrous, hardly just indeed, after taking all a woman has to give.
You led me to suppose you had departed for good and all. Why should you
deceive me?"

"The yacht was not ready for sea," Richard said simply.

"Then you might, in common charity, have let me know that. You were
bound to give me an opportunity of speaking to you once again, I
think."

In his present state of detachment from all worldly considerations,
absolute truthfulness compelled Richard. The event was so certain, the
swarming of the bees so very near, that small diplomacies, small
evasions, seemed absurdly out of place.

"I did not want to hear you speak," he said.

"But doesn't it strike you that was rather dastardly in face of what
had taken place between us? Do you know that you appear in a new and
far from becoming light?"

Denial seemed to Richard futile. He remained silent.

For a moment Helen looked towards the stage. When she spoke again it
was as with reluctance.

"I was desperately unhappy. I went all over the villa in the vain hope
of finding you. I went back to that room of yours in which we parted. I
wanted to see it again."--Helen paused. Her speech was low-toned, soft
as milk.--"It was rather dreadful, Dickie, for the place was all in
disarray, littered with signs of your hasty departure, damp,
cheerless--the rain beating against the windows. And I hate rain. I
found there, not you--whom I so sorely wanted--but something very much
else.--A letter to you from de Vallorbes."--Once more she paused. "I
excuse you of anything worse than negligence in omitting to destroy it.
Misery knows no law, and I was miserable. I read it."

Richard had listened with the same detachment, yet the same absorbed
interest, with which he had watched her entrance. She was a wonderful
creature in her adroitness, in her handling of means to serve her own
ends! But he could not pay her back in her own coin. The time was too
short for anything but simple truth. He felt strangely tired. These
reiterated delays became harassing. If the bees would swarm, only
swarm! Then it would be over, and he could sleep. He clasped his hands
behind his head and looked at Madame de Vallorbes. Her soul kne