"The usual refuge of a man when he is brought to bay," she said. "No words, no arguments will be of any use to me; I shall never be really friends with you until you give up Madame Vanira." "Then we will remain enemies," he replied. "I will never give up a true friend for the caprice of any woman," he replied, "even though that woman be my wife." "Neither will I consent to go to Berlin," she answered, gravely. "Then I must go alone," he said; "I will not be governed by caprices that have in them neither reason nor sense." "Then," cried Lady Marion, "it is war to the knife between us!" "War, if you will," said Lord Chandos; "but always remember you can put an end to the warfare when you will!" "I shall appeal to Lady Lanswell and to the Duke of Lester," said Lady Marion, and her husband merely answered with a bow. With them it was indeed "war to the knife." Such was the Gordian knot that Lady Lanswell had to untie, and it was the most difficult task of her life. On the same evening when that conversation took place, Lord Chandos went to the opera, where Leone was playing "Anne Boleyn." He waited until she came out and was seated in her carriage; then he stood for a few moments leaning over the carriage door and talking to her. "How you tremble, Leone," he said. "Your face is white and your eyes all fire!" "The spell is still on me," she answered. "When I have thrown my whole soul into anything, I lose my own identity for many hours. I wish," she continued, "that I did not so thoroughly enter into those characters. I hardly realize this moment whether I am Anne Boleyn, the unhappy wife of bluff King Hal, or whether I am Leone, the singer." "I know which you are," he said, his eyes seeking hers with a wistful look. "All King Hal's wives put together are not worth your little finger, Leone. See how the stars are shining. I have something to say to you. May I drive with you as far as Highgate Hill?" The beautiful face, all pale with passion, looked into his. "It is against our compact," she said; "but you may if you wish." The silent stars looked down in pity as he took his place by her side. "Leone," he said, "I want to ask you something. A crisis is come in our lives; my wife, who was told about that day on the river, has asked me to give up your acquaintance." A low cry came from the beautiful lips, and the face of the fairest woman in England grew deadly pale. "To give me up," she murmured; "and you, Lord Chandos, what have you said?" "I said 'No,' a thousand times over, Leone; our friendship is a good and pure one; I would not give it up for any caprice in the world." A great, tearless sob came from her pale lips. "God bless you a thousand times!" she said. "So you would not give me up, and you told them so?"