"I am going to make tea," he said.

"Bachelor fashion?"

She sat down on the couch and looked round quickly, taking in all the details of the room. He saw her eyes rest on the woman with the fan, but she said nothing about it. He lit a silver spirit lamp and then sat down beside her.

"At last!" he said.

Lady Holme leaned back in her corner. She was dressed in black, with a small, rather impertinent black toque, in which one pale blue wing of a bird stood up. Her face looked gay and soft, and Robin, who had cunning, recognised that quality of his in her.

"I oughtn't to be here."

"Absurd. Why not?"

"Fritz has a jealous temperament."

She spoke with a simple naturalness that moved the diplomat within him to a strong admiration.

"You can act far better than Miss Schley," he said, with intentional bluntness.

"I love her acting."

"I'm going away. I shan't see you for an age. Don't give me a theatrical performance to-day."

"Can a woman do anything else?"

"Yes. She can be a woman."

"That's stupid--or terrible. What a dear little lamp that is! I like your room."

Robin looked at the blue-grey linen on the walls, at the pale blue wing in her hat, then at her white face.

"Viola," he said, leaning forward, "it's bad to waste anything in this life, but the worst thing of all is to waste unhappiness. If I could teach you to be niggardly of your tears!"

"What do you mean?"

She spoke with sudden sharpness.

"I never cry. Nothing's worth a tear," she added.

"Yes, some things are. But not what you are going to weep for."

Her face had changed. The gaiety had gone out of it, and it looked hesitating.

"You think I am going to shed tears?" she said. "Why?"

"I am glad you let me tell you. For the loss of nothing--a coin that never came out of the mint, that won't pass current anywhere."

"I've lost nothing," she exclaimed, "nothing. You're talking nonsense."

He made no reply, but looked at the small, steady flame of the lamp. She followed his eyes, and, when he saw that she was looking at it too, he said:

"Isn't a little, steady flame like that beautiful?"

She laughed.

"When it means tea--yes. Does it mean tea?"

"If you can wait a few minutes."

"I suppose I must. Have you heard anything of Mr. Carey?"

Robin looked at her narrowly.

"What made you think of him just then?"

"I don't know. Being here, I suppose. He often comes here, doesn't he?"

"Then this room holds more of his personality than of mine?"

There was an under sound of vexation in his voice.

"Have you heard anything?"

"No. But no doubt he's still in the North with his mother."

"How domestic. I hope there is a stool of repentance in the family house."

"I wonder if you could ever repent of anything."

"Do you think there is anything I ought to repent of?"

"Oh, yes."

"What?"

"You might have married a man who knew the truth of you, and you married a man incapable of ever knowing it."

He half expected an outburst of anger to follow his daring speech, but she sat quite still, looking at him steadily. She had taken off her gloves, and her hands lay lightly, one resting on the other.

"You mean, I might have married you."

"I'm not worth much, but at least I could never have betrayed the white angel in you."

She leaned towards him and spoke earnestly, almost like a child to an older person in whom it has faith.

"Do you think such an angel could do anything in--in this sort of world?"

"Modern London?"