"Do you mind if I smoke?" I asked with complete casualness to hide my emotions. She shook her head, and I lit a cigarette.

"You were uneasy because you did not trust me, you thought underneath there might be some trap, and that I would seize you once you belonged to me. There was a moment when I might have felt inclined to do so, though I would never have broken my word, but you have cured me of all that, and there is nothing to prevent our being quite good acquaintances,—even if your prejudice does not ever allow you to be friends."

For a second a blank look came into her expression. I was banking on my knowledge of the psychology of a human mind, the predatory instinct must inevitably be aroused in her by my attitude of indifference, if I can only act well enough and keep it up! I should certainly win in a fairly short space of time. But she is so attractive, I do not yet know if I shall have the strength of mind to do so.

"Are you not going to give me some regular work to do each day?" she asked with a tone of mock respect in her voice. "None of the letters have been answered lately, or the bills paid."

"Yes. I scrambled through them all myself while I was waiting, but if you will look over the book again, we might finally send it to a publisher."

"Very well."

"I don't want you to feel that you have ever to stay in or do any work you don't feel inclined for. We shall have lots of time, for the rest of our lives. No doubt to-morrow you would wish to spend with your mother, if she is going away."

"I said good-bye to her this morning. There is no need for me to go back. I came prepared to stay. Unless of course you would rather be alone, then I can go out for a walk." This last with a peculiar tone in the words.

"Naturally you will want to go for walks, and drives, and shopping. You don't imagine that I shall expect you to be a prisoner, just waiting on my beck and call!"

"Yes, that is how I took the bargain. It is quite unfair otherwise. I am here as a paid dependant and receiving really too high wages for any possible work I can give in return. I would not have entered into it otherwise or on any other terms. I loathe to receive favors."

"Madame Lucifer!"

She flashed blue sparks at me!

"I am not forced to command you to work you know," I went on "that is not part of the bargain, the bargain is entirely concerned with my not asking you to give me any favors, personal favors, like affection, or caresses, etcetera, or that I shall ever expect you to be really my wife."

She frowned.

"Well, you may put your mind entirely at rest, you have been so awfully disagreeable to me for so long, ever since we were at Versailles in the summer, that you don't attract me at all now, except your intellect and your playing. So if you will talk sometimes and play sometimes, that will be all right. I don't desire anything else. Now, assured about this, can't you be at ease and restful again?"

I know why she wore glasses. She cannot control the expression of her eyes! The pupils dilate and contract and tell one wonderful things! I know that this attitude of mine is having a powerful effect upon her, the feminine in her hates to feel that she has lost power over me—even over my senses. I could have laughed aloud, I was so pleased with my success, but I did not dare to look at her much, or I could never have kept the game up. She was more delectable than I can ever describe.

"It would interest me so much to know why your hands used to be so red," I asked after a little pause. "They are getting so much whiter now."

"I had work to do, dishes to wash, our old nurse was too ill, as well as my mother, and my little brother then—" there was a break in her soft voice. "I do not like red hands any more than you do. They distressed my father always. I will try to take care of them now."

"Yes—do."

The evening post had come in, and been put by Burton discreetly on a side table. He naturally thought such mundane things could not interest me on my wedding night. I caught sight of the little pile and asked Alathea to bring them to me.

She did. One from Coralie was lying on top and one immediately under it from Solonge de Clerte! Alathea saw that they were both in female writing. The rest were bills and business.

"Do you permit me to open them?" I asked punctiliously.

"Of course," and she reddened. "Are you not master here? How absurd to ask me!"

"It is not; you are Lady Thormonde, even if you are not my wife, and have a right to courtesy."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Why did you put—'To Alathea from her husband' on the bracelets? You are 'Sir Nicholas' and not my husband."

"It was a betise, a slip of the pen; I admit you are right," and indifferently I opened Coralie's effusion, smiling over it. I put up my hand as if to shade my eye, and looked at Alathea through the fingers. She was watching me with an expression of slightly anxious interest. I could almost have believed that she was jealous!

My triumph increased.

I removed my hand and appeared only to be intent upon Coralie's letter.

"Perhaps we each have friends which might bore the other, so when you want to have parties tell me, and I will arrange to go out, and when I want to, I will tell you. In that way we can never have any jars."

"Thank you, but I have no friends except the Duchesse, or very humble people who don't want to come to parties."

"But you will be making plenty of new friends now. I have some which you will meet out in the world which I daresay you won't care about, and some who come and dine with me sometimes, who probably you would dislike."

"Yes,—I know."

"How do you know?" I asked innocently, affecting surprise.

"I used to hear them when I was typing."

I smiled. I did not defend them.

"If you should chance to meet, would you be civil to them?"

"Of course, 'Coralie,' 'Odette,' and 'Alice,' the Duchesse has often described them all! It was 'Coralie' who came to talk to you at Versailles in the park, was it not?"

Her voice was contemptuously amused and indifferent, but her little nostrils quivered. Underneath she was disturbed I knew.

"Yes, Coralie is charming, she knows more about how to put clothes on becomingly than any other woman."

"Do they dine often? Because I could perhaps arrange to go and have my music lesson with Monsieur Trani on those evenings, twice a week or oftener?"

"You would refuse to meet them?" I pretended to be annoyed.

"Certainly not, one does not do ridiculous things like that. I will meet whoever you wish. I only thought it might spoil your pleasure if I were there, unless of course you have told them that I am only a permanent secretary masquerading under the name of your wife—so that they need not restrain themselves."

Her face had become inscrutable. She was quite calm now. I grew uncertain again for a moment. Had I carried the bluff far enough?

"They have all quite charming manners, but as you infer they might not be so amused to come to the dinner of a married man. I think the last part of your speech was rather a reflection upon my sense of being a gentleman though. I of course have not informed anyone of our quaint relations.—But remember you told me once you did not think I was a gentleman, so I must not be offended now."

She did not speak, she was looking down and her eyelashes made a shadow on her cheeks. Her mouth was sad.

Suddenly something pathetic about her touched me. She is such a gallant little fighter. She has had such an ugly cruel life, and Oh! God she is growing to love me, and soon shall I be able to tell her that I worship the ground she walks on, and appreciate her proud spirit and great self-respect? But I cannot chance anything. I must go on and follow what I know to be sound psychological reasoning.

I felt my will weakening then, she looked so perfectly exquisite there in the corner of the sofa. We were alone.—It was nearly ten o'clock at night, the flowers were scenting the air, the lights were soft, the dinner had been perfection. After all I am a man, and she legally belongs to me. I felt the blood rushing wildly in my veins. I had to clench my hands and shut my eye.

"I expect you are tired now," I said a little breathlessly. "So I will say good-night—Milady, and hope that you will sleep well the first night in your new home."

I got up and she came forward quickly to hand me my crutch.

"Good-night," she whispered quite low, but she never looked at me, then she turned and went slowly from the room, never glancing back. And when she had gone instead of going to bed I once more sank into my chair. I felt queerly faint, my nerves are not sound yet I expect.

Well, what a strange wedding night!

Burton's face was a mask when he came to undress me. Among the many strange scenes he has witnessed and assisted at, after forty years spent in ministering to the caprices of the aristocracy, I believe he thinks this is the strangest!

When I was in bed and he was about to go, I suddenly went into a peal of bitter laughter. He stopped near the door.

"Beg pardon, Sir Nicholas?" he said as though I had called to him.

"Aren't women the weirdest things in the world, Burton!"

"They are indeed, Sir Nicholas," and he smiled. "One and all, from Mam'zelle to ladies like her Ladyship, they do like to feel that a man belongs to themselves."

"You think that is it, Burton?"

"Not a doubt of it, Sir Nicholas."

"How do you know them so well, never having married, you old scallywag!"

"Perhaps that's why, Sir. A married man looses his spirit like—and his being able to see!"

"I seem lonely, don't I Burton," and I laughed again.

"You do, Sir Nicholas, but if I may make so bold as to say so, I don't think you will be so very long. Her Ladyship sent out for a cup of tea directly she got to her room."

And with an indescribable look of blank innocence in his dear old eyes, this philosopher, and profound student of women, respectfully left the room!



XXIV

The day after my marriage I did not come into the salon until just before luncheon, at half-past twelve o'clock. My bride was not there.

"Her Ladyship has gone out walking, Sir Nicholas," Burton informed me as he settled me in my chair.

I took up a book which was lying upon the table. It was a volume of Laurence Hope's "Last Poems." It may have come in a batch of new publications sent in a day or two ago, but I had not remarked it. It was not cut all through, but someone had cut it up to the 86th page and had evidently paused to read a poem called "Listen Beloved," the paper knife lay between the leaves. Whoever it was must have read it over and over, for the book opened easily there, and one verse struck me forcibly:

"Sometimes I think my longing soul remembers A previous love to which it aims and strives, As if this fire of ours were but the embers Of some wild flame burnt out in former lives. Perchance in earlier days I did attain That which I seek for now, so all in vain. Maybe my soul and thine were fused and wed In some great night, long since dissolved and dead."

And then my eye travelled on to the bottom of the page.

"Or has my spirit a divine prevision Of vast vague passions stored in days to be When some strong souls shall conquer their division And two shall be as one eternally."

We are both strong souls, shall we have the strength to conquer outside things and be really "one eternally"?

Alathea must have been looking at this not an hour or more ago, what did it make her think of, I wonder?

I determined to ask her to read the whole poem presently, when we should be sitting together in the afternoon.

It had come on to rain and was a wretched dismal day, I wondered why Alathea had gone out. Probably she is as restless as I am, and being free to move, she can express her mood in rapid walking!

I began to plan my course of action.

To go on disturbing her as much as possible—

To give her the impression that I once thought her perfection, but that she herself has disillusioned me, and that I am indifferent to her now.

That I am cynical, but am amused to discuss love in the abstract.

That I have friends who divert me, and that I really only want her to be a secretary and companion, and that any interest I may show in her is merely for my own vanity, because she is, to the world, my wife!

If I can only keep this up, and not soften should I see her distressed, and not weaken or give the show away, I must inevitably win the game, perhaps sooner than I dare hope!

I felt glad she had not been there, so that I could pull myself together, and put my armour on, so to speak, before we met.

I heard her come in just before luncheon and go to her room, and then she came on to the sitting-room without her hat.

Her taste is as good as Coralie's, probably her new clothes come from the same place, she appeared adorable, and now that I can observe her at leisure, she seems extremely young,—the childish outline, and the perfect curve of the little cheek! She does not look over eighteen years old, in spite of the firm mouth and serene manner.

I had the poems in my hand.

"I see you have been reading these," I remarked after we had given each other a cold good-morning.

The pupils of her eyes contracted for a second, she was annoyed with herself that she had left the paper cutter in the book.

"Yes."

"After lunch will you read to me?"

"Of course."

"You like poetry?"

"Yes, some."

"This kind?"

Her cheeks became softly pink.

"Yes, I do. I daresay I should have more classical tastes, but these seem real, these poems, as if the author had meant and felt what she was writing about. I am no judge of poetry in the abstract, I only like it if it expresses some truth, and some thought—which appeals to me."

This was quite a long speech for her!

"Then poems about love appeal to you?" I asked surprised.

"Why not?"

"Why not indeed, only you always have seemed so austere and aloof, I hardly thought such a subject would have interested you!"

She gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

"Perhaps even the working bees have dreams."

"Have you ever been in love?"

She laughed softly, the first time I have ever heard her laugh. It gave me a thrill.

"I don't think so! I have never talked to any men. I mean men of our class."

This relieved me.

"But you dream?"

"Not seriously."

Burton announced luncheon at that moment, and we went in.

We spoke of the rain, and she said she liked being out in the wet. She had walked all down the Avenue Henri Martin to the Bois. We spoke of the war news, and the political situation, and at last we were alone again in the salon.

"Now read, will you please."

I lay back in my chair and shaded my eye with my hand.

"Do you want any special poem?"

"Read several, and then get to 'Listen Beloved,' there is a point in it I want to discuss with you."

She took the book and settled herself with her back to the window, a little behind me.

"Come forward, please. It is more comfortable to listen when one can see the reader."

She rose reluctantly, and pulled her chair nearer me and the fire, then she began. She chose those poems the least sensuous, and the more abstract. I watched her all the time. She read "Rutland Gate," and her voice showed how she sympathized with the man. Then she read "Atavism," and her little highly bred face looked savage! I realized with a quiver of delight that she is the most passionate creature,—of course she is, with that father and mother! Wait until I have awakened her enough, and she will break through all the barriers of convention and reserve, and pride.

Ah! That will be a moment!

"Now read 'Listen Beloved.'"

She turned the pages, found it, and began, and when she reached the two verses which had so interested me, she looked up for a second, and her lovely eyes were misty and far away. Then she went on and finished, letting the book drop in her lap.

"That accords with your theory of reincarnation, that souls meet again and again?"

"Yes."

"In one of the books I got upon the subject it said all marriages were karmic debts or rewards. I wonder what our marriage is, don't you? Perhaps we were two enemies who injured each other, and now have to make up by being of use, each to each."

"Probably," she was looking down.

"Do you ever have that strange feeling that you are searching for something all the time, something of the soul, that you are unsatisfied?"

"Yes, often."

"Read those last verses again."

Her voice is the most beautiful I have ever heard, modulated, expressive, filled with vibrant vitality and feeling, but this is the first time she has read anything appertaining to love. I could hear that she was restraining all emphasis, and trying to give the sensuous passionate words a commonplace cold interpretation. Never before has she read so monotonously. I knew, ("sensed" is the modern word), that this was because she probably felt and understood every line and did not want to let me see it. Suddenly I found myself becoming suffused with emotion.

Why all the delay, the fencing, the fighting, to obtain this desired thing! This woman—my mate!

That she is my mate I know. My mate because my love is not based upon the senses alone, but is founded upon reverence and respect. I hope—believe—I am certain that we shall one day realize the truth of the words:

"When some strong-souls shall conquer their division, And two shall be as one eternally! Finding at last upon each others breasts Unutterable calm and infinite rest."

For me, that means love, not the mere gratifying of the hunting instinct, not the mere primitive passion for the longed for body, but a union of the souls, which can be satisfied, having soared beyond the laws of change.

What is it which causes unrest? Obviously because something is wanting upon one of the planes on which we love, and so that part which is unsatisfied, unconsciously struggles to have its hunger assuaged elsewhere.

There is no aspect of mind, body and soul in me, which I feel would find no counterpart in Alathea. If I reached out to any height spiritually, she could go as high, or higher. The cleverest working of the brain I could hope to manifest would find a complete comprehension in her. And as for the body! Any student of physiognomy can see that those delicate little nostrils show passion, and that cupid's bow of a mouth will delight in kisses!

Oh! My loved one, do not make we wait too long!

* * * * *

Ye Gods! What a state of exaltation I was in when I wrote those lines last night! But they are the truth, even if I now laugh at my expansion!

I wonder how many men are romantic underneath like I am and ashamed to show it?

When Alathea had finished the verses for the second time, she again dropped the book in her lap.

"What is your conception of love?" I asked casually.

"As I shall always have to crush it out of my life from now onward I would rather not contemplate what my conception of it might have been."

"Why must you crush it out?" I asked blandly. "Your fidelity to me was not part of the bargain, fidelity has to do with the sex relationships, which do not concern us. One would not ask a secretary to become a nun, on account of one. One would only ask her to behave decently, so as not to shock the world's idea of the situation she was supposed to be filling."

Her face grew subtle, a look came into the eyes which might have come into George's or mine. I suddenly realized how well she really knows the world from the hard school the circumstances of her life have caused her to learn in.

"Then I may take a lover, some day, should I desire to?" she asked a little cynically.

"Certainly, if you tell me about it and don't deceive me, or make me look ridiculous. The bargain would be too unfair to you at your age otherwise."

She looked straight into my eye now and hers were a little fierce.

"And you—shall you take a mistress?"

I watched the smoke of my cigarette curling.

"Possibly," I answered lazily, as though the matter were too much a foregone conclusion to discuss. "Should you mind?"

A faint movement showed in her throat as if she had stopped herself swallowing. She looked down. I know she finds it very difficult to lie, and could not possibly do so if we were gazing at each other.

"Why should I mind?"

"No of course, why should you?"

She looked up then, but not at me. Her eyes flashed and her lip curled in contempt.

"Two seems vulgar though," she snapped.

"I agree with you, the idea wounds my aesthetic senses."

"Then we need not expect another—in the flat just yet?"

At last it was out!

I appeared not to understand, and smoked on calmly, and before I could answer the telephone rang. She handed me the instrument, and I said "Hello." It was Coralie! She spoke very distinctly, and Alathea, who was near, must have been able to hear most of the words in the silence.

"Nicholas, I am going to be by myself this evening, you will have a dinner for me? Just us alone, hein?"

I permitted my face to express pleasure and amusement. My wife watched me agitatedly.

"Non, chere Amie—Alas! To-night I am engaged. But I shall see you soon."

"Est il vrai—ce mensonge-la?"

Coralie said this loud!

I put up my hand so as to be able to continue observing Alathea's face. It was the picture of disgust and resentment.

"Yes, it is perfectly true, Coralie—Bon soir."

In a temper, one could gather, Coralie put the receiver down! And I laughed aloud.

"You see I prefer your intellectual conversation to any of my friends!" I told Alathea.

Alathea's cheeks were a bright pink.

"It is not that," her tone was sarcastic, "so much as that you probably have a sense of tenue, as the Duchesse says. After a little while you will not have to observe it so strictly," and she rose from her chair and went to the window. "If you are going to rest now, I would wish to go out," her voice was a little hoarse.

"Yes, do go, and if you will be near the rue de la Paix go into Roberts' and ask if the new menthol preparation has come, and if so bring it back to me, it takes ages for things to be sent now."

"I was not going to the rue de la Paix. I was going to a hospital."

"Never mind then, and don't hurry back, Burton will give me my tea. So au revoir until dinner Miladi."

I had to say all this because I was at breaking point, and could not any longer have kept up the game, but would have made an ignominious surrender, and have told her I loved her, and loathed the idea of a mistress, and would certainly murder any lover she should ever glance at!

She went from the room without a word more. And left alone I tried to sleep, but it was no good. I was too excited. I don't think I am such a fool as to flatter myself. I am trying to look at the situation abstractedly. And it seems to me that Alathea is certainly interested in me, certainly jealous of Suzette, of Coralie, furious with herself for being so, really convinced now that she has lost her hold upon me,—and is uneasy, rebellious, disturbed and unhappy!

All this is perfectly splendid,—my darling little girl!

After a while I went to sleep in my chair, and was awakened by Burton coming in to turn on the lamps.

"Her Ladyship has ordered tea in her room, Sir Nicholas," he told me, "Shall I bring yours here?"

"Her Ladyship has come in then?" I said.

"Her Ladyship did not go out, Sir," Burton answered surprised.

What did this mean I wondered? But I saw no sign of Alathea until she came in ready for dinner as the clock struck eight.

She was pale but perfectly composed, she had evidently been having some battle with herself and had won.

All through dinner she talked more politely and indifferently than she has for a long time. She was brilliantly intelligent, and I had a most delightful repast. We both came up to the scratch, I think.

She longs to visit Italy, she told me; she has not been there since she was a child. I said I would take her directly the war would be over, and things in the way of travel had become possible again. How strong her will must be to have so mastered herself. No slightest sign of emotion, one way or another, showed now. She was the serene, aloof companion of the day at Versailles, before Suzette's shadow fell upon us. I grew puzzled, as the evening wore on, and just a little unsure of myself. Had I gone too far? Had I over disgusted her? Had all interest died out, and so is she enabled to fulfill the bargain without any more disturbance of mind?

I asked her to play to me at last, I was growing so apprehensive, and she went from one divine thing to another for quite an hour, and then at ten o'clock stopped and said a dignified and casual "good-night" leaving me sitting in my chair.

I heard twelve and one strike after I too went to bed, no sleep would come, I was reviewing things, and strengthening my courage. Then I got up and hobbled into the salon to get the "Last Poems," the door was open, why I don't know, nor do I know what impelled me to go out into the passage and towards Alathea's room, some powerful magnet seemed to draw me. The carpets are very deep and soft, no noise of footfalls can be heard. I crept near the door and stopped. What was that faint sound? I listened, yes it was a sob. I crept nearer.

Alathea was crying.

A soft continued moaning as of one in resigned distress. I could hardly bear it. I could hardly prevent myself from opening the door and going to her to comfort her.

My darling, darling little girl!

Flight was my only resource. So I left her to her tears, and returned to my bed, and when I was safely there and could think, a wild sense of triumph and power and satisfaction filled me! The weight, which all the evening her marvelous self-control had been able to make me feel, lifted from my heart, and I rejoiced!

Is it possible that the primitive instinct of the joy of conquest could make of me such a brute!

It gave me pleasure to know that my little love suffered!

The sooner would she belong to me—quite!



XXV

Marriage is the most turbulent state I could have imagined! Whether or not Alathea and I will ever get the tangle straightened out I am not certain. Now as I write—Saturday afternoon, the ninth of November, 1918—it looks as if we were parted forever, and I am so irritated and angry that as yet I feel no grief.

The quarrel all arose from my fault, I suppose. When Alathea came into the sitting-room at about ten o'clock she had blue circles round her eyes, and knowing what caused them I determined to ask her about them and disturb her as much as possible! This was mean of me.

"You poor child! You look as if you had been crying all night. I do hope nothing is troubling you?"

Her cheeks flushed.

"Nothing, thank you."

"Your room cannot be properly aired then, or something. I have never seen you looking so wretchedly. I do wish you would be frank with me. Something must have worried you. People don't look like that for nothing."

She clasped her hands together.

"I hate this talk about me. What does it matter how I look, or am, so long as I do the things I am engaged for?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I suppose it ought not to, but one has a feeling that one hates anyone under one's roof to be unhappy."

"I am not unhappy. I mean not more unhappy than I have always had to be."

"But the causes which made you sad before have been removed surely, only things which are occurring now from day to day between you and me, can bring fresh trouble. Is it something I have done?"

Silence.

"Alathea, if you knew how you exasperate me by your silences! I was always taught that it was very rude not to answer when one was spoken to."

"It depends upon who speaks, and what about, and whether they have a right to an answer."

"Then the inference is that I have no right to an answer, when you are silent?"

"Probably."

I grew irritated.

"Well, I think I have a right, I ask you a plain question—have I done anything which has caused you distress—distress which is so evident that you must have been crying!"

She threw up her arms.

"Why on earth cannot you keep to business, it is quite unfair. If I were really your secretary and nothing more you would never persecute me for answers like this!"

"Yes I would. I have a perfect right to know why anyone in my service is unhappy. Your fencing tells me that it is something which I have done which has hurt you, and I insist upon knowing what it is."

"I shall not tell you," defiantly.

"I am very angry with you, Alathea," my voice was stern.

"I don't care!" hers was passionate.

"I think you are very rude."

"You have told me that before—well I am rude then! I will tell you nothing. I will do nothing but just be your servant to obey orders which relate to the work I have been engaged for."

I felt so furious I had to lie back in my chair and shut my eye.

"You have a very poor sense of a bargain, if you only keep it in the letter. Your underneath constant hostility makes everything so difficult, the inference of your whole attitude toward me, and of everything you say and do, is that you feel injured, that you have some grudge against me."

I tried to speak levelly.

"What on earth have I ever done to you except treat you with every courtesy? Except that one day when you had the baby in your arms and I was rude, but apologized, and that one other time when I kissed you, and God knows I was sorry enough afterwards and have regretted it ever since. What is the reason of your attitude; it is absolutely unfair?"

This seemed to upset her considerably. She hated the idea that she was thought unfair. It may have made her realize too that she had a definite sense of injury. She lost her temper, she stamped her scrap of a foot.

"I hate you!" she burst out. "You and your bargain! I wish I was dead!" and then she sank into the sofa and covered her face with her hands, and by the shaking of her shoulders, I saw that she was crying!

If I had been cool enough to think then, I suppose I could have reasoned that all this was probably most flattering to me, and an extra proof of her state of mind, but the agitation it had plunged me into made me unable to balance things, and I too allowed my temper to get the better of me, and I got up as best I could and seizing my crutch, I walked towards my bedroom door.

"I shall expect an apology," was all I said, and went in and left her alone.

If we are to go on fighting like this, life won't be worth living!

I tried to calm myself and went in the window, but the servants came into the room to make the bed, so I was forced to go back again to the sitting-room. Alathea had gone into the little salon, I suppose, because for the same reason, she could not have returned to her room. I sat down in my chair quite exhausted. I did not feel like reading or doing anything.

It was to-day that we were to go to the Duchesse's in the afternoon for Alathea to be presented to our friends as my wife! I wondered if she had forgotten this!

After an hour Burton came in with the second post.

"You do look badly, Sir Nicholas!" he said. His face was perplexed and troubled. "Can I get you anything?"

"Where is Her Ladyship, Burton?"

Then he told me that she had gone out. I could see he wanted to say something. His remarks are generally valuable.

"Out with it, Burton."

"I do think it is Mam'zelle that's causing all the trouble. As bad luck would have it, as I opened the door to let Her Ladyship out, who should come up the stairs a moment after but Mam'zelle! They must have passed on the floor below. Neither had taken the lift, which as you know, Sir Nicholas, is out of order again, since last night."

"Then she thinks Suzette has come in here to see me Burton. By Jove what a devilish complication! I think we had better move from the flat as quickly as we can."

"It seems as if it would be advisable, Sir Nicholas."

"Can you suggest anything, Burton? I really am quite knocked over to-day."

"Her Ladyship don't chat to servants like some ladies, or I could easily let her maid know that Mam'zelle don't visit here, so that won't do," he mused. "You could not tell her yourself straight out. Sir Nicholas, could you?"

"It would be difficult, because it presupposes I think she minds about it, and for me to let her know that would insult her more than anything."

"Beg pardon, Sir Nicholas, but there was a young woman some twenty years ago, who had a temper like, and I always found it was best just to make a fuss of her, and not do no reasoning. That is what they wants, Sir Nicholas, indeed it is. I've watched them in all classes for a matter of many years. You can get what you want of them if you only make a fuss of them."

"What does 'to make a fuss of' exactly mean Burton?"

"Well, it is not for me to tell you Sir, knowing ladies as you do, but it is just kissing and fondling them, and them things, makin' them feel that they're just everything,—even reasonable, Sir Nicholas."

Burton's dryly humorous face delighted me. His advice was first class, too!

"I'll think it over," I told him, and he left me alone.

That would be one way of winning or losing everything certainly! But it would also be breaking my word, and I don't believe I could do that.

Alathea came in in time for luncheon. Her face was set in a mutinous obstinate mould. We went into the dining-room immediately, and so there was no chance of conversation. I noticed that she wore no bracelets or rings, nothing of mine, not even the wedding ring.

We were icy to each other during the meal, and made conversation, and when we were alone with the coffee I just said:

"I hope that you have not forgotten that at four o'clock we are to go to the Duchesse's to meet the friends that she thinks it is suitable for you to know."

Alathea started. I could see she had not registered this fact for this date.

"I would rather not go," she said resentfully.

"I daresay you would. So would I, but we owe the Duchesse gratitude for all her kindness to us, and I fear we must."

We did not speak further. I could not talk until she apologized, and I rose to go out of the room. She gave me my crutch. Her not apologizing made me burn with resentment.

I had not been in the salon a minute, however, before she came in, her face crimson. She stood in front of me.

"I apologize for showing my temper this morning. Would it not do after to-day if I just lived out somewhere, and came in and worked as before? It is a perfect farce that I live here, and wear a wedding ring, even the servants must be laughing at me."

"I notice you do not wear a wedding ring. Your whole attitude is perfectly impossible, and I demand an explanation. What is the reason of it? We made a bargain, and you are not keeping it."

"If you will give me time to work, I will pay you back the fifty thousand francs, and the clothes and jewels I can leave behind me—I want to go."

She spoke with a break in her voice now.

"Why do you want to go suddenly, there is nothing different to-day to yesterday or any other day? I refuse to be the puppet of your caprices."

She stood clasping and unclasping her hands, never looking at me.

"Alathea," I said sternly, "look me straight in the face and tell me the truth. What is your reason."

"I can't" still her eyes were down.

"Is there someone else?" My voice sounded fierce to my own ears. I had a sudden fear.

"But you said it would not matter if there was someone else—if I told you," she answered defiantly.

"There is someone else then?" I tried to be casual. "Look at me."

Slowly she raised her eyes until they met my one.

"No, there is no one.—I just don't want to live here, in this flat any longer."

"Unless you can give me some definite reason for this extraordinary behaviour on your part, I am afraid I must refuse to discuss the situation, and meanwhile will you please go to your room and fetch the rings and bracelets."

She turned and left without a word—I daresay she wondered what I was going to do with them.

She brought them back.

"Come here close."

She came rebelliously.

"Give me your hand."

"I won't."

"Alathea, I will seize it, crippled as I am, and make you obey me by force if you will not for asking."

Her whole face expressed furious resentment, but she is too sensible and level headed to make a scene, so she gave me her hand. I put the wedding ring back, and the big diamond one.

"Now you will wear them until you convince me of your reason so thoroughly that I myself take them off, the bracelets you can do as you like about—throw them away, or give them to your maid. And this afternoon I hope I can count upon your instincts of being a lady to make you behave so that no one can chatter about us."

She drew away her hand, as though my touch burnt her. Her expression was contemptuously haughty.

"Of course you can count upon me for this afternoon," and she turned and went out of the room again.

And now I am waiting for her to come back dressed for the Duchesse's reception, it is ten minutes to four o'clock. The volcano upon which we are living cannot go on simmering much longer, there is bound to be an explosion soon!

* * * * *

Later:

Things are developing! My bride and I never spoke a word on the way to the Hotel de Courville. She was looking the most desirable morsel a man could wish to present to his friends. The sable cloak and the most perfect frock and hat. Her maid is evidently a splendid hairdresser. She was "of a chic," as Maurice afterwards told me.

I had telephoned and broken the news to him while I was waiting for Alathea to come. He was not surprised, he pretended, and now that the marriage is an accomplished fact, he is too well bred not to fall into the attitude of delight about it. Maurice has no intention of dropping me—married or single!

Thus when we arrived, and went up in the lift to the sitting-room, we found him among the first to greet us.

The Duchesse kissed us both fondly, and said many pleasant things, and having placed me in a suitable chair, brought everyone to me, and presented Alathea to them all.

They were the very creme de la creme of the Faubourg who could be collected in Paris—many are still in the country. Coralie was there, with two resentful pinpoints in her clever little eyes, but the most gracious words on her lips.

They none of them could find fault with the appearance of my wife—nor her manner. She has the ways of the ancien regime like the Duchesse. I could see that she was having a huge success.

While everything seemed to be going beautifully and all the company had gone on into another small anti-room where the "gouter" was, my dear old friend came to me.

"It is not progressing Nicholas—Hein?"

"There is some screw very loose, Duchesse. She absolutely hates me and wants to go and live out of the flat!"

"Tiens!—She is jealous of some one. Nicholas, it is not possible that you have still—?"

I did not grow angry.

"No indeed, that is over long ago, but I do believe she thinks it is not. You see the person in question comes to see a relative who has married an antiquaire on the floor above me, and Alathea has seen her on the stairs and imagines she comes to see me!"

"And you cannot tell her?"

"I am not supposed to know it would matter to her!"

"Bon. Do you really love the child, Nicholas?"

"Chere Amie, with my whole heart. I only want her in all the world."

"And she is being impossible for you surely! I know her character—if she thinks you have a mistress—her pride is of le diable!"

"It is indeed."

The Duchesse laughed.

"We must see what can be done, dear boy. Imagine though what I have discovered! That infamous father took that money that you gave, when the affair had already been settled by le Colonel Harcourt with your money! A relation of mine attested at the investigation and had to know the facts. Nicholas, you preux chevalier! You paid twice, and never said a word! You are of a devotion! It was splendid of you, but my poor Hilda is heartbroken that you have been so pillaged."

At that moment the crowd returned from the other room and the Duchesse rose and left me.

Coralie now sat with me.

"Mes compliments, Nicholas! She is lovely! But what a fox,—thou!"

"Am I not? It is so delicious to find things out for oneself!"

Coralie laughed; she has a philosophic spirit, as I have found always those much love-battered ones possess. She accepts my defection and again looks to the main chance to see how she can benefit by it.

At last the whole thing was over, and Maurice and I had a cigarette together in the tea room.

People would be crazy, "simply crazy, my dear chap," about Alathea, he told me. She was "seduisante," how right I had been! How fortunate I was! When was I going to England?

He said farewells after this, and once more my wife and I were alone in the brougham.

Alathea wore her mask. Having been received now as my wife, and by the Duchesse whom she loves and respects, she knows she cannot go on suggesting she will not live in the flat with me. She cannot bring herself to speak about Suzette, because the inference would be that she objects. I wondered if the Duchesse had been able to say anything to her.

She did not speak at all and went straight to her room when we arrived.

It was five minutes past eight when she came in to the sitting-room.

"I am sorry if I have kept you waiting," were her first words.

At dinner we spoke ceremoniously of the party. And when we went back to the salon she went straight to the piano and played divinely for an hour.

The music soothed me. I felt less angry and disturbed.

"Won't you come over and speak now?" I called in a pause, and she came over and sat down.

"Don't let us talk to-night," she said. "I am trying to adjust things in my mind. I want to go to my mother to-morrow, if you will agree. She is ill again, and has not been able to start. From there I will tell you if I can force myself to keep on with it, or no."

"I cannot understand why it should be so difficult, the idea did not affright you when we first talked of it. You voluntarily accepted the proposal, made your bargain, promised to stick to it, and here after three days you are trying to break out, and are insinuating that the circumstances are too horrible for you to continue bearing it. Surely your reason and common sense must tell you that your behaviour is grotesque."

The same agitation which always shows when we talk thus overcame her again. She did not speak.

"I could understand it better if you were a hysterical character. You did not seem to be so, but now no ridiculous school miss of romance could be more given to the vapours. You will absolutely destroy the remaining respect I have for you, unless you tell me the truth, and what is underneath in your mind influencing you to behave so childishly."

This stung her to the quick, as I had meant that it should. She bounded up.

"Well,—I will then. I hate being in the house—with your mistress!"

She was trembling all over, and as white as marble.

I leaned back and laughed softly. My joy was so immense I could not help it.

"To begin with, I have no mistress, but if I had how can it possibly matter to you, since you hate me, and yourself arranged to be only my secretary."

"You have no mistress!" I could see she thought I was lying ignobly.

"I had one, as of course you know, but the moment I began to think that you might be an agreeable companion, I parted from her, at the time when you saw the counterfoils in the cheque-book, and changed to me from that moment."

"Then—?" she still looked incredulous.

"She has a cousin living in the flat above, married to an anticaire. She comes to see her. You have no doubt met on the stairs. And on our wedding day she came in here, not knowing, to thank me for a villa I had given her at Monte Carlo as a good-bye present. I am very angry that she intruded, and it shall never happen again."

"Is this true?" She was breathless.

That made me angry.

"I am not in the habit of lying," I said haughtily.

"Mademoiselle la Blonde," and her lips curled. "She came in while you were at St. Malo. She inferred you had not parted then!"

"That was because she was jealous, and is very temperamental. I had thought that quality was confined to her class."

I too can hit hard when I am insulted!

Alathea flashed at me. She was beginning to realize that she was at a disadvantage.

"You are not unutterably shocked that I should have had a—friend, are you?"

Her face grew contemptuous.

"No, my father had one. Men are all beasts."

"They may be in the abstract, but are not when they can find a woman worth love and respect."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"My mother is an angel."

"Now that your mind is at rest as to this question, have you any other cause of complaint against me? Though why it should matter to you what I do or don't do in this respect, as long as I am courteous to you, and fulfill my side of the bargain, I cannot think. One could imagine you were jealous!"

"Jealous!" she flared furiously. "Jealous, I! How ridiculous.—One has to care to be jealous!" and then she flounced out of the room.

Yes,—even when they appear all that is balanced, there is nothing so amazing as a woman!



XXVI

Sunday:

I slept last night soundly for some strange reason, and woke quite late on Sunday morning.

One frequently has some sense of depression or some sense of exhaltation before one is quite conscious, and quite often cannot account for either state. Presumably Alathea had left me full of contemptuous indifference, but I awoke with a feeling of joy and satisfaction, which gradually changed to flatness, when I became fully aware of things.

For indeed what reason had I for great rejoicing? None, except that the menace of the Suzette bogie may be lifted.

I rang for Burton. It was nine o'clock.

"Has Her Ladyship breakfasted yet, Burton?"

"Her Ladyship breakfasted at eight, and left the house at half-past, Sir Nicholas."

My heart sank. So I was going to have a lonely morning. She had said she wanted to go to her mother, I remembered now. I did not hurry to get up. The doctors were coming with the wonderful artist who is making my new foot, at twelve o'clock, and I am to have it on to-day for the first time. This would be a surprise for Alathea when she returned to lunch. I read my journal in bed, and thought over the whole of our acquaintance. Yes, certainly she has greatly changed in the last six weeks. And possibly I am nearer my goal than I could have dared to hope.

Now my method must be to be sweet to her, and not tease her any more.

How wonderful it will be when she does love me. I have not thought much about my own feelings lately. She has kept me so often irritated and angry, but I know that there is a steady advance, and that I love her more than ever.

To see her little mutinous rebellious face softening—?—it will be worth all the waiting. But meanwhile she is out, and I had better get up!

* * * * *

I wonder if all the hundreds of other fellows who lost a leg below the knee and were cripples for eighteen months felt the same as I did when the new limb was fixed, and they stood upon two feet again for the first time.

A strange, almost mad sense of exaltation filled me. I could walk! I was no longer a prisoner, dependent upon the devotion of attendants!

I should no longer have to have things placed within reach, and be made to realize impotency!

It hurt and was awkward for a while.—But Oh! the joy, joy, joy!!

After the doctors and the specialist had gone with hearty congratulations, my dear old faithful servant had tears in his eyes as he dressed me.

"You must excuse me, Sir Nicholas, but I am so glad."

Excuse him! I could have hugged him in my own joy.

He arrayed me in one of Mr. Davies's pre-war masterpieces, and we both stood in front of the long glass in my bedroom, and then we solemnly shook hands!

It was too glorious!

I wanted to run about! I wanted to shout and sing. I played idiotic tricks, walking backwards and forwards, like one of Shackleton's penguins. Then I went back to the glass again, actually whistling a tune! Except for the black patch over my eye, I appeared very much the same as I used to do before the war. My shoulder is practically straight now. I am a little thinner, and perhaps my face bears traces of suffering, but in general I don't look much altered.

I wonder what Alathea will say when she sees me! I wonder if it will make any difference to her?

To-morrow morning they are going to put in my eye.

I have not written all this in my journal, it seemed too good to be true, and I had a kind of superstitious feeling that I must not even think of it, much less write, in case it did not come off. But now the moment has come! I am a man again on two feet. Hurrah!

I looked out of the window and kissed my hand to a young girl in the street. I wanted to call to her, "I could walk with you now, perhaps soon I could run!" She looked at me with the corner of her eye!

Then I planned how I would surprise Alathea! I would be in my bedroom when I knew she was in the salon before lunch, and then I would walk in!

I became excited, there was about a quarter of an hour to wait. I tried to sit down and settle to a book, but it was useless, the words conveyed no sense. I could not even read the papers!

I began listening to every sound, there were not many things passing at this time on a Sunday morning, but of course she was walking, not driving. One o'clock struck. She had not returned. Burton came in to ask if I would postpone lunch.

"Her Ladyship did not say when she would be back," he said.

"We had better not wait then. I believe now she told me she would not be in."

Burton had opened a pint of champagne. On this tremendous occasion he felt I should drink my own health!

I had begun to lose some of my joy.——I wished she had been here to share it with me.——

* * * * *

I have walked up and down—up and down. It is four o'clock now, and she has not returned. No doubt her mother is ill, perhaps,—perhaps—

Midnight:

I have spent a beastly day. My exhilaration has all evaporated now. I have had no one to share it with me. Maurice and everyone is leaving me discreetly alone, knowing I am supposed to be on my honeymoon—Honeymoon!

I spent the afternoon waiting, waiting. And after tea when Alathea had not arrived I began taking longer turns, walking up and down the broad corridor, and at last I paused outside her room, and a desire came over me to look in on it, and see how she had arranged it.

There was silence. I listened a moment, then I opened the door.

The fire was not lit, it all seemed cold and cheerless. I turned on the light.

Except for the tortoise-shell and gold brushes and boxes I had had put on the dressing table for her, there was not an indication that anyone stayed there, none of the usual things women have about in their rooms. One could see she looked upon it just as an hotel, and not a permanent abode. There were no photographs of her family, no books of her own, nothing.

Only the bracelets were on the table still in their case, and on looking nearer, I saw there was a bottle of scent. It had no label, and when I opened it I smelled the exquisite perfume of fresh roses that she uses. Where does she get it? It is the purest I have ever smelt in my life.

I looked at the quaint little fourpost bed that I had found in that shop at Bath, a perfect specimen of its date, about 1699, with the old deep rose silk pressed over the shell carving.

I had an insane desire to open the drawers in the chest and touch her stockings and gloves. I had a wild feeling altogether I wanted my love, rebellious, unrelenting, anyhow! I just longed for her.

I resisted my stupidities and made myself leave the room, and then tried to feel joy again in my leg.

Burton was turning on the lamps when I got back to the salon.

"There are rumours that something is going to happen, Sir Nicholas,—talk of an Armistice I heard when I was out. Do you think Foch will do it?"

But I know all these rumours and talks, we have heard them before, so this did not affect me. I could feel nothing, as time went on, but a passionate ache. Why, why must she be so cruel to me? Why does she leave me all alone?

Alathea, I would never be so unkind to you. And yet I don't know, if I were jealous and angry, as I suppose she is, I could of course be much crueler.

Her Ladyship's maid had been given the day out by her mistress, Burton informed me, so that we could gain no information from her. We waited until half-past eight for dinner, but still my little girl did not come, and in solemn state in a white tie and tail coat, I dined—alone!

In spite of the champagne, which Burton again handed, apprehension set in. What can have happened to her? Has she had an accident? Does she mean never to return? Are all my calculations of no sense, and has she left me forever?

In despair, at ten o'clock I telephoned the Hotel de Courville.

Lady Thormonde had been there in the morning, I was told, but the Duchesse had left for Hautevine at two o'clock.—No one was in the house now.—No, they did not know Lady Hilda Bulteel's telephone number. She had no telephone they supposed.—No, they did not know the address.

Auteuil, and the name Bulteel, that is all! Perhaps something could be done on a week-day, but on a Sunday night, in war time, all was impossible. And at last in an agony of doubt and apprehension, I consented to retire to bed.

Had I made some mistake? I tried to remember. She had said she meant to decide if she could bear the situation or no, and that she was going to her mother. She wanted to be with her. She had been ill and could not start. Yes, of course that is it. The mother is ill, and they have no telephone. I must wait until the morning. She cannot really mean not to come back. In any case she would have let me know.

But what an agony of suspense!

Burton came and gave me my medicine, when I was in bed, and although I knew it was a camouflaged sleeping draught, I drank it. I just could not bear it any longer.

But I only slept until four, and now I am sitting up writing this, and I feel as if every queer force was abroad, and that all sorts of momentous things are happening.—Oh, when will daylight come—

* * * * *

I was awakened by cannon!

I leaped from my bed. Yes, leaped! I had been dreaming that a surprise party of Germans were attacking the trench, and I was just rallying the men for a final dash when heavy guns began a bombardment which was unexpected.—Oh God! let me get up and over the top in time!

Wild with excitement, I was now wide awake!

Yes, there were cannons booming!

Had Bertha begun again?

What was happening?

Then I heard murmurs in the street. I rang the bell violently. I had slept very late. Burton rushed in.

"An Armistice, Sir Nicholas," he cried joyously.

"It's true after all!"

An Armistice! Oh, God!

So at last, at last we have won, and it has not been all in vain!

I shook with emotion. How utterly absorbed in my own affairs I had been not to have taken in that this was coming. George Harcourt had telephoned that he had news for me, I remember now, while we were at the Hotel de Courville on Saturday, and I had paid no attention.

I was too excited all through breakfast to feel renewed anxiety about Alathea. I was accepting the fact that she had stayed with her mother. Surely, surely she would be in soon now!

The oculist, and his artist-craftsman, would be arriving soon, at eleven o'clock, if the excitement of an Armistice does not prevent them! I hope all that won't be going on when Alathea does come in!

Burton has questioned her maid. She knows nothing of Miladi's movements only that she herself had been given permission to go out for the day.

All the servants have gone more or less crazy! Pierre hopped in just now, jolly old chap! and in his excitement embraced me on both cheeks!

(He has a wooden stump, not a smart footed thing like mine, but I shall change all that now!).

Antoine could not contain himself, and heaven knows what the underservants did!

I told them all to run out and see what was happening, but Pierre said no, the dejeuner of Monsieur must not be neglected. Time enough in the afternoon!

Eleven came, and with it the oculist, and by luncheon time I had a second blue eye! But Oh! the shouting in the streets and the passionate joy in the air!

The two men preened themselves upon keeping this appointment upon so great a day, and indeed my gratitude was deep. But the same gladness did not hold me as when my leg was given back to me. Everything was now swallowed up in an overwhelming suspense.

What could have kept Alathea?

I walked to the glass soberly when the doctors had gone, eager to get away and join the rejoicers. And what I saw startled me. How astonishing the art of these things is now! Unless I turn my glance in some impossible way I have apparently two bright blue eyes, with the same lids and lashes, the scrap of shrapnel only injured the orb itself, and did not touch the lid, fortunately, and the socket had healed up miraculously in the last month. I am not now a disgusting object. Perhaps, possibly—Yes, can I induce her to love me soon?

But what is the good of it all? She has not returned, and now something must be done.

But on this day of days no one could be found to attend to anything! Shops were shut, post offices did not work. The city was mad with rejoicing.

At luncheon I ate,—gulped down my food. Burton's calm reassured me.

"You don't think anything has happened, do you Burton?"

"No, Sir Nicholas. Her Ladyship is no doubt with her family. I don't feel that anything is amiss. Her Grace returns to-morrow anyway, and we can hear for sure then. Would you not care to drive out and see the people, Sir? It is a day!"

But I told him no. He must go, they all could go. I would wait in and could now attend to myself! But I knew somehow that the dear old boy would not leave me.

The hours went by, the shouting grew louder, as bands passed on their way to the Champs Elysees to see the cannon, which I heard were now dragged there. Burton came in from time to time to tell me the news, gathered from the concierge below.

I telephoned to Maurice, he was wild with delight! They were going to have a great dinner at the Ritz and then go and farandole in the streets with the people, would not we (we!) join them!

Everyone was going. Odette telephoned too, and Daisy Ryven. All were rejoicing and happy.

The agony grew and grew. What if she means to leave me and has just disappeared, not telling me on purpose to punish me? At this thought I went frantically into her room again, and looked on the dressing-table. The ring cases were there in a drawer in the William and Mary looking-glass, but no rings. No, if she had not meant to return she would have left them behind her. This gave me hope.

I had the fire lit. Burton lit it, everyone else was out.

Of course the crowd has prevented her returning. There would be great difficulty in getting back from Auteuil.

Some of the fellows of the Supreme War Council rang up. They were less exhilarated by the news. A pity, they thought. Foch could have entered Berlin in a week!

At last, when I had been pacing like a restless tiger, and twilight was coming, I sank into my chair overcome with the strain.

I did not mean to feel the drivel of self pity, but it is a ghastly thing to be all alone and anxious, when everyone else is shouting for joy.

I was staring into the fire. I had not had the lights lit on purpose. I wanted the soft shadows to soothe me. Burton had gone down again to the concierge.

A bitterness and a melancholy I cannot describe was holding me. Of what good my leg and my eye if I am to suffer torment once more? A sense of forsakenness held me. Perhaps I dozed, because I was worn out, when suddenly I was conscious of a closing door, and opening my eye, I saw that Alathea stood before me.

A log fell and blazed brightly, and I could see that her face was greatly moved.

"I am so sorry if you have been anxious.—Burton says you have. I would have been back earlier but I was caught in the crowd."

I reached out and turned on the lamp near me, and when she saw my eye and leg, she fell upon her knees at my side.

"Oh! Nicholas," she cried brokenly, and I put out my hand and took her hand.

* * * * *

What a thing is joy!

My heart beat madly, the blood rushed in my veins. What was that noise I heard in my ear beyond the shouting in the street?

Was it the cooing which used to haunt my dreams?

Yes it was. And Alathea's voice was murmuring in French:

"Pardon, pardon, j' etais si bien ingrate—Pardonnez moi—Hein?"

I wanted to whisper:

"Darling you have returned,—nothing matters any more," but I controlled myself. She must finally surrender first!

Then she sprang to her feet and stood back to look at me. I rose too and there towered above her.

"Oh, I am so glad, so glad," she said tremulously. "How wonderful,—how miraculous!—It is for this great day!"

"I thought that you had left me altogether." I was a little breathless, "I was so very sad."

Now she looked down.

"Nicholas," (how I loved to hear her pronounce my name) "Nicholas, I have heard from my mother of your great generosity. You had helped us without ever telling me, and then paid again to stop my mother's anxiety, and again to stop mine. Oh! I am ashamed,—humbled, that I have been as I have been to you, forgive me, forgive me, I ask you to from my heart."

"I have nothing to forgive child. Come let us sit down and talk everything over," and I sank into the sofa and she came beside me.

She would not look at me, however, but her little face was gentle and shy. "I cannot understand though why you did all that. I cannot understand anything about it all.—You do not love me.—You only wanted me for your secretary, and yet you paid over a hundred thousand francs! The generosity is great."

I gazed and gazed at her.

"And you hate me," I said as coolly as I could "and let me buy you, so that you could save your family.—Your sacrifice was immense."

Suddenly she looked straight up at me, her eyes filled with passion, so that wild fire kindled in my blood.

"Nicholas,—I do not hate you."

I took both her hands and drew her to me, while outside in the street they were singing the Marseillaise and yelling for joy.

"Alathea, tell me the truth, what then do you feel?"

"I don't know. I wanted to murder Suzette. I could have drowned Coralie.—Perhaps you can tell me,—here in your arms—!"

And with wild abandon she fell forward into my fond embrace.

Ah! God! The bliss of the next few moments with her soft lips pressed to mine! Then I could not repeat often enough that I loved her, nor make her tell me how she loved me in return!

Afterwards, I grew masterful and ordered her to recount to me everything from the very beginning.

Yes, she had been attracted by me from the first day, but she hated the friends I had round me, and she did not like the aimlessness of my life.

"Whenever I used to be growing too contemptous though, Nicholas, I used to remember the V.C., and then the feeling went off, but I was growing angrier and angrier with myself, because in spite of believing you only thought of me as one of them, I could not prevent myself from loving you. There is something about you that made one forget all about your leg and your eye!"

"Those cheques disgusted you!" and I kissed the little curl by her ear—she was clasped close to me now.—"That was the beginning of my determination to conquer you and have you for my own!"

She caressed my hair.

"I adore thick hair, Nicholas," she whispered, "but now you have had enough flattery! I am off to dress!"

She struggled and pretended she wanted to leave me, but I would not let her go.

"Only when I please and at a price! I want to show you that you have a husband who in spite of a wooden leg and a glass eye, is a powerful brute!"

"I love you,—strong like that," she cooed, her eyes soft with passion again. "I am not good really,—or austere,—or cold."

And I knew it was true as she paid the toll!

Presently I made her let me come and choose which frock she was to put on for dinner, and I insisted that I should stay and see her hair being brushed, and the maid, Henriette, with her French eye, beamed upon us understandingly!

While Burton almost blubbered with happiness when I told him His Ladyship and I were friends again.

"I knew it, Sir Nicholas, if you'd just made a fuss of her."

How right he was!

What a dinner we had, gay as two children, fond and foolish as sweethearts always are,—and then the afterwards!

"Let us go and see the streets," my little love implored, "I feel that we should shout our divine happiness with the crowd!"

But when we went out on the balcony to investigate, we saw that would be impossible, I am not yet steady enough on my feet to have faced that throng. So we stood there and sang and cheered with them, as they swept on towards the Arc de Triomphe, and gradually a delirious intoxication held us both, and I drew her back into the softly lighted room.

"Lover!" she whispered as she melted into my arms, and all I answered was, "Soul of Mine."

And now I know what the whole of those verses mean!

And so this Journal is done!

THE END