For what on earth did I care for the disapproval of a creature like Miss Wilpert, except as it interfered with my growing wish to stand well with Kate Ingram? The answer I did make sprang to my lips before I could repress it. “Because—you must know by this time. Because I can’t bear that anything or any one should come between us.”

            “Between us—?”

            I pressed on, hardly knowing what I was saying. “Because nothing matters to me as much as what you feel about me. In fact, nothing else matters at all.”

            The words had rushed out, lighting up the depths of my feeling as much to myself as to Mrs. Ingram. Only then did I remember how little I knew of the woman to whom they were addressed—not even her maiden name, nor as much as one fact of her past history. I did not even know if she were married, widowed or divorced. All I did know was that I had fallen in love with her—and had told her so.

            She sat motionless, without a word. But suddenly her eyes filled, and I saw that her lips were trembling too much for her to speak.

            “Kate—” I entreated; but she drew back, shaking her head.

            “No—”

            “Why ‘no’? Because I’ve made you angry—?”

            She shook her head again. “I feel that you’re a true friend—’“

            “I want you to feel much more than that.”

            “It’s all I can ever feel—for any one. I shall never—never …” She broke down, and sat struggling with her tears.

            “Do you say that because you’re not free?”

            “Oh, no—oh, no—”

            “Then is it because you don’t like me? Tell me that, and I won’t trouble you again.”

            We were sitting alone in a deserted corner of the lounge. The diners had scattered to the wide verandahs, the card-room or the bar. Miss Wilpert was safely engaged with a party of bridge-players in the farthest room of the suite, and I had imagined that at last I should be able to have my talk out with Mrs. Ingram. I had hardly meant it to take so grave a turn; but now that I had spoken I knew my choice was made.

            “If you tell me you don’t like me, I won’t trouble you any more,” I repeated, trying to keep her eyes on mine. Her lids quivered, and she looked down at her uneasy hands. I had often noticed that her hands were the only unquiet things about her, and now she sat clasping and unclasping them without ceasing.

            “I can’t tell you that I don’t like you,” she said, very low. I leaned over to capture those restless fingers, and quiet them in mine; but at the same moment she gave a start, and I saw that she was not looking at me, but over my shoulder at some one who must have crossed the lounge behind me. I turned and saw a man I had not noticed before in the hotel, but whose short square-shouldered figure struck me as vaguely familiar.

            “Is that some one you know?” I asked, surprised by the look in her face.

            “N-no. I thought it was… I must have been mistaken …” I saw that she was struggling to recover her self-control, and I looked again at the newcomer, who had stopped on his way to the bar to speak to one of the hall-porters.

            “Why, I believe it’s Jimmy Shreve—Shreve of the New York Evening Star” I said. “It looks like him. Do you know him?”

            “No.”

            “Then, please—won’t you answer the question I was just asking you?”

            She had grown very pale, and was twisting her long fingers distressfully. “Oh, not now; not now…”

            “Why not now? After what you’ve told me, do you suppose I’m going to be put off without a reason?”

            “There’s my reason!” she exclaimed with a nervous laugh. I looked around, and saw Miss Wilpert approaching. She looked unusually large and flushed, and her elaborate evening dress showed a displeasing expanse of too-white skin.

            “Ah, that’s your reason? I thought so!” I broke out bitterly.

            One of Mrs. Ingram’s quick blushes overswept her. “I didn’t mean that—you’ve no right to say so. I only meant that I’d promised to go with her…”

            Miss Wilpert was already towering over us, loud-breathing and crimson. I suspected that in the intervals of bridge she had more than once sought refreshment at the bar. “Well, so this is where you’ve hidden yourself away, is it? I’ve hunted for you all over the place; but I didn’t suppose you’d choose a dark corner under the stairs. I presume you’ve forgotten that you asked them to reserve seats for us for those Javanese dances. They won’t keep our places much longer; the ballroom’s packed already.”

            I sat still, almost holding my breath, and watched the two women. I guessed that a crucial point in the struggle between them had been reached, and that a word from me might wreck my chances.