She could not account for it. Why on this particular night should she be so vilely tormented? It was no use going to bed; she could not sleep; at least not without a drug, and she had taken too many of late. Sleep under such circ.u.mstances failed to soothe her; she awoke with a heavy head and tired eyes, her body hardly rested.

She got up and walked to and fro in the room. She was debating what to do, how to act. Never since her love affair with Hector Woodridge had she met a man who appealed to her as William Rolfe did. The moment she was introduced to him at the races she knew he was bound to influence her life for good, or evil. She recognized the strong man in him, the man who could bend her to his will; she knew in his hands she would be as weak as the weakest of her s.e.x, that she would yield to him. More, she wished him to dominate her, to place herself in his power, to say to him, "I am yours; do what you will with me." All this swept over her as she looked into his eyes and caught, she fancied, an answering response. She had felt much of this with Hector Woodridge, but not all; William Rolfe had a surer hold of her, if he wished to exercise his power, she knew it.

Did she wish him to exercise the power?

She thought no, and meant yes. Fletcher Denyer was useful to her, but in her heart she despised him; he took her money without scruple when she offered it. She was quite certain Rolfe would not do so, even if he wanted it ever so badly. She had no fear of Denyer, or his jealous moods. She smiled as she thought of him in his fits of anger, spluttering like a big child. Rolfe was a man in every respect, so she thought; she was a woman who liked to be subdued by a strong hand. The tragedy in her life had not killed her love of pleasure, although the result of it, as regards Hector Woodridge, had caused her much pain.

Still she was a woman who cast aside trouble and steeled herself against it. She had not met a man who could make her forget the past and live only in the present, but now she believed William Rolfe could do it.

Would he try, would he come to her? She thought it possible, probable; and if he did, how would she act? Would she confess what had happened in her life? She must, it would be necessary, there would be no deception with such a man. What would be the consequences--would he pity, or blame her?

At last she went to bed, and toward morning fell asleep, a restless slumber, accompanied by unpleasant dreams. It was eleven o'clock when she dressed; she remembered she had to meet Fletcher and William Rolfe at luncheon. She took a taxi to the hotel, and found Rolfe waiting for her. He handed her a note; it was from Denyer, stating he was detained in the city on urgent business, apologizing for his unavoidable absence, asking Rolfe to meet him later on, naming the place.

He watched her as she read it, and saw she was pleased; it gave him savage satisfaction. He had not thought his task would be so easy; everything worked toward the end he had in view.

"I hope you will keep your appointment, at any rate," he said.

"I have done so, I am here," she answered, smiling.

"I mean that you will lunch with me."

"Would it be quite proper?" she asked with a challenging glance.

"Quite," he said. "I will take every care of you."

She wondered how old he was. It was difficult to guess. He might be younger than herself--not more than a year or two at the most. What caused that look on his face? It certainly was not fear; he was fearless, she thought. It was a sort of hunted look, as though he were always expecting something to happen and was on his guard. She would like to know the cause of it.

"You cannot imagine how difficult I am to take care of," she said.

"I am not afraid of the task," he said. "Will you lunch with me?"

"With pleasure," she replied, and they went inside.

The room was well filled, a fashionable crowd; several people knew Mrs. Elroy and acknowledged her. To a certain extent she had lived down the past, but the recollection of it made her the more interesting. Women were afraid of her attractions, especially those who had somewhat fickle husbands; their alarm was groundless, had they known it.

"Wonder who that is with her? He's a fine looking man, but there's something peculiar about him," said a lady.

"What do you see peculiar in him? Seems an ordinary individual to me,"

drawled her husband.

"He is not ordinary by any means; his complexion is peculiar, a curious yellowy brown," she said.

"Perhaps he's a West Indian, or something of that sort."

They sat at a small table alone; she thoroughly enjoyed the lunch. She drank a couple of gla.s.ses of champagne and the sparkling wine revived her.

"Shall we go for a motor ride after?" he asked.

"Yes, if you wish, and will not be tired of my company," she said.

"You do yourself an injustice," he said. "I do not think you could tire any one."

She laughed as she said: "You don't know much of me, I am dull at times, rather depressed." She sighed, and for a moment the haggard look came into her face. Hector wondered if remorse were accountable for it; if she ever repented the injury she had done; no, it was not possible or she would have stretched out her hand to save him.

He steeled his heart against her; he hated her; he would have his revenge, cost her what it might.

They entered a taxi and were driven in the direction of Staines and Windsor. She felt a strange thrill of pleasure as she sat close beside him.

CHAPTER XIX

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO?"

They went along the Staines Road, then by the banks of the Thames past Runnymede, came to Old Windsor, and from there to the White Hart Hotel. She thoroughly enjoyed it; the drive nerved her; she forgot the painful reflections of the previous night. He talked freely. She noticed with satisfaction he seemed attracted by her, looked at her searchingly as though interested. They went on the river and were rowed past the racecourse. It was warm and fine, the flow of the water past the boat soothed her. They had tea at the hotel, then returned to town.

"Where to?" he asked when they were nearing Kensington. She gave the name of her flat and they alighted there.

"I have been here some time," she said. "I find it comfortable and quiet. Will you come in?"

He followed her. He noticed her room was furnished expensively and in excellent taste; there was nothing grand or gaudy about it.

"I am alone here, with my maid," she said. "They have an excellent system: all meals are prepared downstairs and sent up; there is a very good chef."

"The least possible trouble," he said. "How long have you been here?"

"Three years. It suits me; I do not care to be away from London. In my married days I lived in the country, but it bored me to death. Do you like the country?"

"Yes, I love it; but then much of my life has been spent in solitude."

"You have traveled?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."

"Why?"

"Your complexion denotes it. I like it, there is a healthy brown about it."

"I have done much hard work in my time," he said.

"Mining?" she asked.

"Yes, I suppose you would call it that."

"Where?"

"On Dartmoor," he said.