ed in America how
uncomfortable a people's country can be."

"Yet you married an American. You call yourself still the Countess
Radantz... but you married Mr. James B. Peterson!"

"It is true, my friend," she answered. "But the American in question
was a person of culture and intelligence, and at heart he was no more
a democrat than I am. Further, I am an extravagant woman, and he was a
millionaire."

"And you, after his death, without necessity--went to bury yourself in
his country."

"Why not?"

"I am jealous of every year of your life which lies hidden from me," he
said slowly.

"Dear me--how uncomfortable!"

"Before you--reappeared," he said, "I had learnt, yes I had learnt to do
without you. I had sealed up the one chapter of my life which had in
it anything to do with sentiment. Your coming has altered all that. You
have disturbed the focus of my ambitions. Lucille! I have loved you for
more than half a lifetime. Isn't it time I had my reward?"

He took a quick step towards her. In his tone was the ring of mastery,
the light in his eyes was compelling. She shrank back, but he seized one
of her hands. It lay between his, a cold dead thing.

"What have my politics to do with it?" he asked fiercely. "You are not
an Englishwoman. Be content that I shall set you far above these gods of
my later life. There is my work to be done, and I shall do it. Let me
be judge of these things. Believe me that it is a great work. If you are
ambitious--give your ambitions into my keeping, and I will gratify them.
Only I cannot bear this suspense-these changing moods. Marry me-now at
once, or send me back to the old life."

She drew her fingers away, and sank down into her easy-chair. Her head
was buried in her hands. Was she thinking or weeping? He could not
decide. While he hesitated she looked up, and he saw that there was no
trace of tears upon her face.

"You are too masterful," she said gently. "I will not marry you. I will
not give myself body and soul to any man. Yet that is what you ask. I am
not a girl. My opinions are as dear to me in their way as yours are to
you. You want me to close my eyes while you drop sugar plums into my
mouth. That is not my idea of life. I think that you had better go away.
Let us forget these things."

"Very well," he answered. "It shall be as you say." He did not wait for
her to ring, nor did he attempt any sort of farewell. He simply took
up his hat, and before she could realise h