"Listen to me, Terry dearest," he spoke coaxingly, "don't be a baby.

What is it that you're asking me to do? Is it to see him for you and to break the news that you've altered your mind over night. You know he'll want reasons. What shall I tell----?"

She lifted her head, stretching back her throat so that all her face looked up at him. "If you'll still have me----" His hands on her shoulders tightened. "Say that you still want me, Tabs." For answer his head slowly nodded, but his eyes never left her eyes. "Tell him that I'm engaged to you, instead."

In the tumult of surprised desire he bent over her, but he got no further, for a tap fell on the panel of the door and the handle turned.

He drew himself upright quickly and stepped back aloofly. "What is it?"

"A telegram, your Lordship." Ann entered. "I told the girl to wait in case there was an answer."

He tore it open, glanced through it and handed it to Terry. To Ann he said, "There won't be any answer."

Terry read, "_Shall be delighted to have you lunch with me to-day Savoy Hotel one o'clock. Braithwaite._" She examined the address and looked up startled, "But it's to you. It's--it's as though he knew we were together. What made him send it?"

When Tabs answered there was no echo of her excitement in his voice. "I wrote him yesterday asking him to call here. Evidently he preferred a more public place."

She glanced at him shrewdly. "Why did you write him? You must have done that between leaving me and coming to our house to dine. I know it's no good my asking you." Her last words were more of a question than an a.s.sertion. "I can see that it's no good my asking you." "No, Terry, it's no good. Braithwaite's past is his own secret. But I can pledge you my word that it bears no stain."

"Then why shouldn't he----?" She changed her question. "Shall you meet him to-day at lunch?"

"Yes."

"Shall you tell him what we've----?"

"Not all of it, Terry."

"Why not all of it? Which part are you going to leave out?"

He came again to where she sat and stood gazing down on her. "Terry, why do you want me to tell him? Why can't you tell him yourself? It would be kinder."

"Because---- Oh, Tabs, you do want me, don't you? Because I daren't trust myself to see him."

"And so you want me to tell him we're engaged because you daren't trust yourself to tell him! Isn't that it?"

She nodded.

"And you daren't trust yourself to tell him because the moment you saw him you would fall again under his spell?"

This time she didn't nod, but her eyes gave a.s.sent.

"And what does that mean, little Terry? Whether you call it love or fascination, it means that even though you do not see him, your heart is his at present. It means that against your will he's infinitely more to you than I am. It means that you only ask me to become engaged to you in order that you may be strong to break his spell. It doesn't mean that I will be anything more to you to-morrow than I was last night, when you gave him your pledge."

She tried to speak, but he halted her words. "I'm older than you are.

Have you thought of that? I'm not the man I was; I'm lame. You can like me as a friend and believe me indispensable; but, if I were your husband, fifteen years from now when you're only the age I am to-day----Have you considered that? My dear, I love you so well, that I'll never let you tie yourself to me, till you're as certain that you can't risk meeting me without loving me as you're certain at this moment that you daren't risk meeting this other man. When you can do that----"

The tenderness in his eyes hurt her. "Directly I can do that, I'll tell you, Tabs. And--and I believe I could almost tell you now."

"If you can now," he said, "there's a test. Will you take my place at lunch and tell Braithwaite?"

She shrank, and tried to smile, and shook her head.

"Then it'll be I who'll have to do it." He tried to a.s.sume a cheerful manner. "But I can't give him your reason about being engaged to me. If it were true, which it isn't, it wouldn't be generous. If I carry any message, the only honorable thing for me to do is to inform him of everything."

"Of everything?" she questioned.

"Yes, of everything. I must tell him where the trouble lies and give him his chance to be frank with you. Only when that is done, shall I be free to do my utmost to win you for myself."

She took his hands and drew herself up to him. "Do what you like, Tabs.

As long as I know that I've not lost you," her voice became small and almost happy, "I'm content."

She was tiptoeing against him. The next thing he knew he was kissing her warm red mouth.

III

She was gone. He had watched her from the steps until she had reached the end of the Square where the swirl of pa.s.sing traffic had engulfed her. At the last moment she had looked back and smiled. For some minutes after she had vanished, he had stood there recalling the way in which her brave little figure had tripped out of sight among the bl.u.s.tering March sunshine and shadows. A child, he thought, impulsive and lacking in perspective, with a child's alacrity for drying its tears and believing in a future happiness. How would she regard this morning years hence in the after-glow of experience? Would she find nothing in its calamities but foolishness? And what relation would he himself bear to her when she had arrived at that stoical calm?

He reentered the house. In the room where they had been together the fragrance of her presence still lingered. The chair was pushed back, just as she had risen from it to lift her warm, red lips to his. How smooth they were! Again like a child's! Everything about her was young and undeveloped. She had kissed simply and gratefully, with none of the blundering, sweet surrender with which a woman clings to her lover. If she had ever kissed Braithwaite, she had not kissed him like that.

And then Tabs was overcome with a reluctant remorse, which was tinged with a shameful sense of triumph. She had offered him her lips in grat.i.tude; they had kindled in him the flames of pa.s.sion. For the moment he had devoured her with kisses--her eyes, lips, cheeks and hair.

If he were to keep himself in hand, he must fill his days with interests--_new_ interests. He must move among people and normalize himself. He must fight against the melancholy of his obsession. His eyes chanced to rest on the crumpled sheet of scented note-paper tossed into the empty grate. Stooping, he picked it up and smoothed it out. This problem of Maisie would at least divert him--besides, he had promised to do what he could for Adair. He noted the Chelsea address and reread the contents with its sly humility and hint of coquetry: "I have been given to understand that you are exceedingly anxious to make my acquaintance.

If this is so, I shall be at home when you call to-morrow afternoon."

She had been quite certain that he would call when she wrote those words. They had all the a.s.surance of one who was fully persuaded of her own powers of charm and beauty.

"Again, Maisie P.," he apostrophized her, "I'm bound to acknowledge that you know more about me than I know about myself. I didn't know that I wanted to make your acquaintance at the time when you were writing this letter. I was quite sure that I wasn't going to call upon you when I read it. In both cases you were the better informed, for I shall be with you as soon as I've fulfilled my Savoy engagement."

An hour later, as he was on his way out, he found Ann waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.

"I don't want to bother your Lordship."

"You're not bothering me. What is it?"

"I've been thinking that if I wrote the particulars down myself----"

"The particulars! What particulars?"

"About Braithwaite, sir. There were things you wouldn't know or might leave out. So I thought that if I stated my case myself, it might make things more sensible-like to your Lordship's friend at the War Office."

"It might. Are those the particulars you have in your hand?"

"Yes, sir. But they're kind of private. I shouldn't like them to be read by just anybody. That's why---- Perhaps, if your Lordship was seeing your friend----"

"As it happens," Tabs spoke with a careless air, "I shall be lunching with him to-day. I can deliver your letter direct."

"Your Lordship is very kind."

"Not in the least, Ann. And remember, whatever happens, that Braithwaite was brave and he'd expect you to be brave. If you're not---- D'you know what you'll do? Whether he's alive or dead, you'll let him down."