Mrs. Massingale! DorÉ heard the name a second time without quite realizing what it meant, as if the sound were suspended in the air before her, waiting for recognition before taking flight. She did not comprehend—she could not comprehend! The thing was too incredible!

"Ah, Mrs. Massingale," she repeated mechanically.

All at once a sharp pain penetrated to her heart. The riot of fork and knife, the busy live sounds of conversation, were lost in a confused drumming in her ears. Everything became blurred to her eyes, except the mounting W of Sassoon's mustache and the round eyes of Ida, which seemed to grow rounder and bigger before her. She felt suddenly stricken, and yet unable to cry out—suffocated. She let her head fall slowly, staring at the plate before her, a yellow and red plate with a curious scroll design in the center. No! She could not understand. It was not possible that such a thing could befall her. Married! Massingale married! Blackness—a wall—a wall that had no opening, that could not be scaled or turned.

A waiter was offering something at her side. She nodded, taking up a fork, all quite mechanically.

Inside she felt a hand closing over her heart, contracting it painfully. Then all at once she experienced a burning feeling of shame and anger across her shoulders, on her cheeks, and on her lips where his kisses had touched her. How she had been entrapped, blindly, foolishly entrapped, caught and humiliated at the last, despite all her cleverness! Now she understood, in a flash of understanding, why he had not come, why he had not written, why he had not telephoned! He had gone further than he had meant. It was his conscience he was fleeing from—that conscience he had forgot when he had returned to her door!

"I understand! I shall see him no more!" a voice said within her. "It's all over. It never was anything!"

She felt within her the beginnings of many fierce emotions—despair, blinding anger, a fierce unreasoning desire for revenge, a revolt against the forces that had tricked her. But these slumbering points of fire did not leap up instantly. The shock that suddenly had arrested her very being, seemed to have arrested the operation of her sensibilities: they did not respond—they were numbed. The realization was staggering. She could not meet it; she rejected it, striving to send it from her. She felt hurt, horribly, weakly hurt; but she did not wish to acknowledge what had happened. She only knew, in a groping way, that something horrible had suddenly fallen on her out of a clear sky—something that meant the end of all things, the lurking tragedy in her life: something that she would, perhaps, never, never live down!

All at once she began to talk, looking at Sassoon with a dangerous provoking light in her eyes, her cheeks unnaturally flushed, reckless and defiant.

"Poor Mr. Sassoon! Ida, look at him. Did you ever see a man so miserable? He's furious at me. He was counting on such a confidential, intimate little luncheon! It really is a shame to play him such a trick! But I warned him—I always play fair. I told him he was no match for us!" She laughed at his puzzled expression, rushing on: "Really, though, you should conceal your feelings better. You should learn from women. We never show what we feel!"

Did she show what was tearing at her heart? She wondered. She did not care! There was nothing but injustice in the world. What had she done to deserve such a blow? If she had to suffer, others should suffer too! Sassoon's eyes were lighting up, tantalized by this frantic savagery in the woman. She saw the look, and laughed at it, knowing the bitterness she had reserved for him. Now she was scarcely polite to him, mocking him to his face, eagerly awaking within him the demons of covetousness and revenge.

"What has happened to her?" thought Ida, watching her anxiously.

"Pretty little devil, she'll pay for this!" thought Sassoon, blinking at her, his arms before him, rubbing the back of his soft hands with his quiet, combustibly patient gesture.

"Ah, there's Mr. Blood at last!" Dodo cried, all at once. "Now it will be more amusing!"

She waited tremulously the meeting of the two men—these two who should pay so dear to her what she had received in injustice.

Sassoon did not rise. He shot a searching angry glance at DorÉ, closed one hand tightly over the other and raised his eyebrows in interrogation at the newcomer.

"Quarter of three," said Blood, standing, and barely nodding to Sassoon. "I've been waiting fifteen minutes—that's quite enough. Miss Baxter, you belong to me now!"

"Oh, is it as late as that?"

"Is Mr. Blood here on your invitation, Miss Baxter?" said Sassoon deliberately.

"Yes. We had an engagement for a ride up the river. I'm afraid I've kept him waiting."

"Turn about is fair play," said Harrigan Blood aggressively.

The looks the two men exchanged said what their meaningless phrases concealed.

Ida Summers, not in the secret, yet scenting complications, remained watching, puzzled and a little apprehensive.

"My turn later then," said Sassoon, with perfect politeness. He smiled a little, but it was a malicious smile.

"He detests me now," thought DorÉ, with a first curious unease at this controlled oriental passion, stubborn, willing to wait endlessly.

She was right. The humiliation which he accepted calmly, with an inward raging, had roused the brute within him, but not the brute that gives up the hunt. To run her down at the last, to have the woman whom he curiously hated and desired, who hated and resisted him, but could not resist beyond the temptations he would spread—that was a passion worth any amount of money; that alone could make money precious to him.

"I may at least be permitted to accompany you to the door," he said, showing his white, sharp little teeth in a well-constructed smile, surprising them by his self-possession. "I am glad to know Mr. Harrigan Blood is a rival; it simplifies matters, doesn't it?"

"Yes, bandit," said Blood, making the sign of drawing a knife.

Sassoon having helped DorÉ into her coat, stood holding her hand.

"What consoles me is that I am sure Mr. Harrigan Blood is no more a match for you than I am!" Then he added imperturbably, looking her boldly in the eyes: "You are very beautiful. You have a right to be as tantalizing as you like! I shan't object in the least! Give me credit, pretty little tigress, for being quite submissive!"

"Lordy, I think you're an angel, Mr. Sassoon," said Ida Summers, who was sentimental, and who had the advantage of completely missing the situation.

"Your sympathy is very consoling, Miss Summers," said Sassoon curtly, turning on his heel.

He went evenly to the telephone booth and called up his confidential broker:

"Humphreys, I want you to get me a little information very quietly."

"Yes, Mr. Sassoon?"

"Find out what is the extent of Mr. Harrigan Blood's holdings in the stock market. I want complete information, especially as to what he is holding on margins. Treat the matter as absolutely confidential!"