"Oh, Clive! You know that isn't very much to offer you. You know that our being together is far more to me than it is to you! I dare not even consider what I'd do without you, now. You mould me, alter my thoughts, make me such a delightfully different girl, take entire charge and possession of me.... I don't want you to give me anything more--do anything more for me.... When you first began to give me beautiful things I didn't want to take them. Do you remember how awkward and shy I was--how I blushed. But I always end by doing everything you wish.... And it seems to give us both so much pleasure--all you do for me.... But please _don't_ ask me to live without paying rent--" The limousine drew up by the curb; Clive jumped out, aided Athalie to descend; and started for the grilled door where a light glimmered. "This is not the house!" exclaimed Athalie, stopping short. "Where are you taking me, Clive?" "Come on," he said, "I merely want to show you how I've had the new apartment house built--" "But--it's too late! What an odd idea, taking me to inspect a new apartment house at two in the morning! Are you really serious?" He nodded and rang. A sleepy night porter opened, recognised Clive, and touched his hat. "Take us to the top, Mike," he said. "Have you the keys, sorr?" "Yes." They entered the cage and it shot up to the top floor. "Wait for us, Mike."... And to Athalie: "This is Michael Daly who will do anything you ask of him--won't you, Mike?" "I will that, sorr," said the big Irishman, tipping his hat to Athalie. "But, Clive," she persisted, bewildered, still clinging to his arm, "I don't understand why--" "Little goose, hush!" he replied, subduing the excitement in his voice and fitting the key into the door. "One moment, Athalie," he added, "until I light up. Now!" She entered the lighted hallway, walking on a soft green carpet, and turned, obeying the guiding pressure of his arm, into a big square room which sprang into brilliant illumination as he found the switch. Green and gold were the hangings and prevailing colours; there were rugs, wide, comfortable chairs and lounges, bookcases, a picture or two in deep glowing colours, a baby-grand piano, and an open fire loaded for business. "Is it done in good taste, Athalie?" he asked. "It is charming. Is it yours, Clive?" He laughed, slipped his arm under hers and led her along the hallway, opening door after door; and first she was invited to observe a very modern and glistening bathroom, then a bedroom all done in grey and rose with dainty white furniture and a white-bear rug beside the bed. "Why this is a woman's room!" she exclaimed, puzzled. He only laughed and drew her along the hall, showing her another bedroom with twin beds, a maid's room, a big clothes press, and finally, a completely furnished kitchen, very modern with its porcelain baseboard and tiled walls. "What do you think of all this, Athalie?" he insisted. "Why it's exquisite, Clive. Whose is it?"