to bed."

They played the last game almost in silence. Then Lady Hilda replaced
her cue in the rack and threw herself into one of the easy chairs.

"Bring me a whisky-and-soda," she said. "We'll have one cigarette before
we go to bed."

John obeyed her, and sat by her side. She looked at him a little
questioningly. His unhesitating acceptance of the situation had puzzled
her. There was nothing but the slightest change in his manner to denote
his realization of the fact that the house-party was a sham.

"I believe you are cross," she exclaimed suddenly.

"On the contrary," John replied, "I have had a thoroughly delightful
day."

"You don't like people who tell fibs," she went on. "You know quite
well, now, that my house-party was a farce. I never asked the Daunceys,
I never sent a telegram to Fred. It was simply rotten luck that he rang
me up. I asked you down here to spend the week-end with me--alone."

He looked her in the face, without the slightest change of expression.

"Then I think that it was exceedingly nice of you," he said, "and I
appreciate the compliment. Really," he went on, with a smile, "I think
we are quite safe, aren't we? You are known as a man-hater, and you are
allowed special privileges because you are what you are. And I am known
to be in love with another woman."

She frowned slightly.

"Does the whole world, then, know of your infatuation?" she asked.

"It may know, for all I care," John replied simply. "I am hoping that
after Monday Louise will let me announce it."

There was a short silence. A portion of the log fell to the hearth, and
John carefully replaced it upon the fire.

"Do you remember," she asked, dropping her voice almost to a whisper,
"what I said to you the first night we met at Covent Garden, before I
had any particular interest in you, before I had come to like you?"

John made no reply. Why did she again remind him of what she had said
that night?

"I advised you," she went on, "not to be too rash. I think I told you
that there were better things."

"There is no better thing in the world," John said simply, "than to give
every feeling of which you are capable to the woman you love."

She frowned and threw her cigarette into the hearth.

"You talk," she declared, "either like George Alexander on the stage, or
like a country bumpkin! Why doesn't some one teach you the manners of
civilized life?"

"Lady Hilda," he replied, "I am past teaching. You see, the fa