e a
fog wreath. That was the reason why she had told the footman to come in
ten minutes. She thought that in ten minutes she might make up her mind.
If she decided upon doing something that required an emissary the man
would be there.

She looked at the little silver box she had taken up that night when she
was angry, then at the grand piano in the further room. The two things
suggested to her two women--the woman of hot temper and the woman of
sweetness and romance. What was she to-night, and what was she going to
do? Nothing, probably. What could she do? Again she glanced round the
rooms. It seemed to her that she was like an actress in an intense,
passionate _role_, who is paralysed by what is called in the theatre "a
stage wait." She ought to play a tremendous scene, now, at once, but the
person with whom she was to play it did not come on to the stage. She
had worked herself up for the scene. The emotion, the passion, the
force, the fury were alive, were red hot within her, and she could not
set them free. She remained alone upon the stage in a sort of horror of
dumbness, a horror of inaction.

The footman came in quietly with the lemonade on a tray. He put it down
on a table by Lady Holme.

"Is there anything else, my lady?"

She supposed that the question was meant as a very discreet hint to her
that the man would be glad to go to bed. For a moment she did not reply,
but kept him waiting. She was thinking rapidly, considering whether she
would do the desperate thing or not, whether she would summon one of
the actors for the violent scene her nature demanded persistently that
night.

After the opera she had been due at a ball to which Leo Ulford was
going. She had promised to go in to supper with him and to arrive by a
certain hour. He was wondering, waiting, now, at this moment. She knew
that. The house was in Eaton Square, not far off. Should she send the
footman with a note to Leo, saying that she was too tired to come to the
ball but that she was sitting up at home? That was what she was rapidly
considering while the footman stood waiting. Leo would come, and
then--presently--Lord Holme would come. And then? Then doubtless would
happen the scene she longed for, longed for with a sort of almost crazy
desire such as she had never felt before.

She glanced up and saw an astonished expression upon the footman's pale
face. How long had she kept him there waiting? She had no idea.

"There is nothing else,"