an in Claude. And he had to heed it. But
he loathed himself at this moment. And he felt that he had given Mrs.
Shiffney the right to hate him for ever.

"My weakness is my curse!" he thought. "It makes me utterly
contemptible. I must slay it!"

Desperation seized him. Abruptly he got up.

"You are much too kind!" he said, scarcely knowing what he was saying.
"I can never be grateful enough to you. If I--if I do succeed, I shall
know at any rate that one--" He met her eyes and stopped.

"Good-night!" she said. "I'm afraid I must send you away now, for I
believe I will run in for a minute to Eve Inness, after all."

As Claude descended to the hall he knew that he had left an enemy behind
him.

But the knowledge which really troubled him was that he deserved to have
Mrs. Shiffney for an enemy.

His own self, his own manhood, whipped him.

CHAPTER XXXIII

That night, when Claude arrived at the St. Regis, Charmian was still
out. She did not return till just after midnight. When she came into the
sitting-room she found Claude in an armchair near the window, which was
slightly open. He had no book or paper, and seemed to be listening to
something.

"Claudie! Why, what are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"But the window! Aren't you catching cold?"

He shook his head.

"I believe you were listening to 'New York'!" she continued, taking off
her cloak.

"I was."

She put her cloak down on the sofa.

"Listening for the verdict?" she said. "Trying to divine what it will
be?"

"Something like that, perhaps."

"There is still a good deal of the child in you, Claude," she said
seriously, but fondly too.

"Is there? Too much perhaps," he answered in a low voice.

"What's the matter? Are you feeling depressed?"

She sat down close to him.

"Are you doubtful, anxious to-night?"

"Well, this is rather an anxious time. The strain is strong."

"But you are strong, too!"

"I!" he exclaimed.

And there was in his voice a sound of great bitterness.

"Yes, I think you are. I know you are."

"You have very little reason for knowing such a thing," he answered,
still with bitterness.

"You mean?"--she was looking at him almost furtively. "Whatever you
mean," she concluded, "I can't help it! I think you are. Or perhaps I
really mean that I think you would be."

"Would be! When?"

"Oh! I don't know! In a great moment, a terrible moment perhaps!"

She dropped her eyes, and began slowl