and she drew in her breath with almost a hiss. Yes, nothing could ever
be the same again. "Leave me, Johnson," she said, "I am too tired, I
cannot get up yet."

And the respectful maid crept from the room.

Then she lay back in her pillows and forced herself to face the
position, and review what she had done, and what she must now do.

First of all, she loved Gritzko, that she could no longer argue with
herself about. Secondly, she was an English lady, and could not let
herself be kissed by a man whose habit it was to play with whom he
chose, and then pass on. She was free, and he was free, it followed his
caressing then--divine as it had been--was an absolute insult. If he
wanted her so much he should have asked her to marry him. He had not
done so, therefore the only thing which remained for her to do, was to
go away. The sooner the better.

Then she thought of all the past.

From the moment of the good-bye at the Sphinx it had been a humiliation
for her. Always, always, he had been victor of the situation. Had she
been ridiculously weak? What was this fate which had fallen upon her?
What had she done to draw such circumstances? Then even as she lay
there, communing sternly with herself, a thrill swept over her, as her
thoughts went back to that last passionate kiss. And her slender hands
clenched under the clothes.

"If he really loved me," she sighed, "I would face the uncertain
happiness with him. I know now he causes me emotions of which I never