Severance strode impatiently up and down the room overlooking the ocean.

“‘Will be down in a minute.’ I suppose that means the usual thirty for reflection and contemplation of bric-À-brac. What a pretty room! No bric-À-brac in it, by the way. I wonder if this is the room my lady Jessica is said to have furnished to suit herself? It looks like a woodland glade. She must look stunning against those moss-green curtains. I wonder how madam liked my letter? It was rather brutal, but to manage a witch you have got to be Jove astride a high horse. Here she comes. I know that perfume. She uses it to sweeten the venom of those snakes of hers.”

Mrs. Pendleton entered and gave him her hand with frank welcome. Her “snakes” seemed vibrant with life and defiance, and her individuality pierced through her white conventional gown like a solitary star in a hueless sky.

“How do you do?” she asked, shaking his hand warmly; then she sat down at once as a matter of course.

He understood the manoeuvre.

“Let us play chess, by all means,” he said and took a chair opposite. “Your seclusion has done you good,” he added, smiling as the crest of a wave appeared in her eyes. “You have lost your fagged look and are more like a girl than a widow. Dissipation does not agree with you. Two more winters! You would try to make up for it by your wit, and then your nose would get sharp, and you would have a line down the middle of your forehead and another on each side of your mouth.”

“You are as rude as ever,” said Jessica, coldly; but the wave in her eyes threatened to become tidal. “If you marry a blonde and incarcerate her, however, you may find the effect more bleaching than Society.”

“Was that a reflection upon my own society? I do not incarcerate; I only warn.”

“So do I,” said Mrs. Pendleton, significantly; “I have occasionally got the best of a bad bargain.”

“And as you will find me the worst in the world you are already on the defensive,” said Severance, with a laugh. “Come, I have not seen you for six months, and I am hard hit. I wrote you that I marked off each day with a pencil—a red one at that; I bought it for the occasion. Don’t take a base advantage of the admission, but give me one kind syllable. I ask for it as humbly as a dog does for a bone.”

“You do, indeed. I began by making disagreeable remarks about your personal appearance, did I not? If you will be a brute, I will be a—cat.”

“You will acquit yourself with credit. But I will not quarrel with you to-day.” He rose suddenly and went over to her, but she was already on her feet. She dropped her eyes, then raised them appealingly; but the sea was level.

“Do not kiss me,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I would rather not—yet. Do you know that I have never kissed a man—a lover, I mean—in my life? And this is so sudden—I would rather wait.”

He raised her hand chivalrously to his lips. “I will wait,” he said; “but you will wear my ring?” And he took a circlet from his pocket and slipped it on her finger.

“Thank you,” she said simply and touched it with a little caressing motion.

He dropped her hand and stepped back. Miss Decker had pushed aside the portiÈre.

“How do you do, Mr. Severance?” she said cordially; “I did not interrupt even to congratulate, but to take Jessica away for a moment. My dear, your dressmaker came down on the train with Mr. Severance and has but a minute. You had better go at once, for you know her temper is not sweet.”

“Provoking thing!” said Jessica, with a pout. It was the fourth mood to which she treated Severance in this short interview, and he looked at her with delight. “But I will get rid of her as soon as possible. Will you excuse me for a few moments? I will be back in ten.”

“A dressmaker is the only tyrant to whom I bow, the only foe before whom I lay down my arms. Go; but come back soon.”

“In ten minutes.”

“Which is it, and where is he?” she whispered eagerly as they crossed the hall.

“Mr. Trent. He is in the library.”