you to name it." She looked over Clara's head. She had stood
abashed when Clara had put on the majesty of right, but now it was Clara
herself who was abashed, not at the thing itself, but at the fact of
having to utter it. She sat grasping one of her gloves in her doubled
fist; and, leaning forward, with her eyes like jewels in her little pale
face and the white aura of her veil, waited as if she thought that by
some silent agency of understanding Flora would presently take up a pen
and write the desired figure in her check-book.

But Flora stood inexorable, straight and black, crowned with her helmet
of gleaming hair; and, with her hands behind her, looked over Clara's
head through the window into the garden. She would not help Clara gloss
over this ugly fact.

A curious grimace distorted Clara's features, as if with an effort she
gulped something bitter, and then into the silence her voice fell--a
gasp, a breath--"Fifty thousand."

All sums had become the same to Flora, even her year's income. As if she
were verily afraid Clara might take it back, she turned precipitately to
a writing-table. But Clara had risen, and though still pale, in a
measure she seemed to have recovered herself.

"Wait. I can't give it to you now. I will meet you here in two hours and
bring the picture. You can let me have it then."

"Oh, two hours!" Flora objected.

But Clara was firm. "No, I can't bring it sooner. It will make no
difference in your affair." She was panting in her excitement. "In two
hours you shall have the picture here. I promise you."

Flora wondered. Depth below depth! She could never seem to get to the
bottom of this business. There was only one thing she could count on,
and that was Clara's impeccable honor in living up to a bargain. Flora
sealed that bargain now. She held out her fluttering slip of paper,
still wet with ink.

"Very well, in two hours--but take this now. I would rather you did."

Clara reached the tips of her fingers, touched the paper--and then it
was no longer in Flora's hand, and Clara was walking from her across the
room.

XXIII

TOUCHE

Left alone, Flora glanced rapidly around her. Now for a sally, now for a
dash straight for Kerr. The shortest way was what she wanted. Opening
doors lately had led to too many surprises. She pushed aside the long
curtains and stepped out through the French window upon the veranda.
Rapidly her eyes swept the garden. Far down between the gray, sli