He had been kept waiting longer than usual, and he had somehow the
feeling that his visit was ill-timed, when at last she came to him. He
looked up eagerly as she entered the little reception room which he had
grown to know so well during the last few weeks, and it struck him for
the first time that her welcome was a little forced, her eyes a little
weary.

"I haven't," he said apologetically, "the least right to be here."

"At least," she murmured, "I may be permitted to remind you that you are
here without an invitation."

"The worse luck," he said, "that one should be necessary."

"This is the one hour of the day," she remarked, sinking into a large
easy-chair, "which I devote to repose. How shall I preserve my fleeting
youth if you break in upon it in this ruthless manner?"

"If I could only truthfully say that I was sorry," he answered, "but I
can't. I am here--and I would rather be here than anywhere else in the
world."

She looked at him with curving lips; and even he, who had watched her
often, could not tell whether that curve was of scorn or mirth.

"They told me," she said impressively, "that you were different--a
woman-hater, honest, gruff, a little cynical. Yet those are the speeches
of your salad days. What a disenchantment!"

"The things which one invents when one is young," he said, "come perhaps
fresh from the heart in later life. The words may sound the same, but
there is a difference."

"Come," she said, "you are improving. That at any rate is ingenious.
Suppose you tell me now what has brought you here before four o'clock,
when I am not fit to be seen?"

He smiled. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I mean it. I haven't either my clothes or my manners on yet. Come,
explain."

"I met a man who interested me," he answered. "He comes from America,
from Lenox!"

He saw her whiten. He saw her fingers clutch the sides of her chair.

"From Lenox? And his name?"

"The Duke of Souspennier! He takes himself so seriously that he even
travels incognito. At the hotel he calls himself Mr. Sabin."

"Indeed!"

"I wondered whether you might not know him?"

"Yes, I know him."

"And in connection with this man," Brott continued, "I have something in
the nature of a confession to make. I forgot for a moment your request.
I even mentioned your name."

The pallor had spread to her cheeks, even to her lips. Yet her eyes were
soft and brilliant, so brilliant that they fascinated him.

"What did he sa