She rose also. Not because she wished to; but because--such was the confusion of her mental processes--she found it easier to agree than to differ. They moved across the square. The flat leather case was in her hand. "Have you found the locket?" "Yes." She blushed; but she was a continual blush. "Good portrait of me, isn't it?" "Excellent." "I had it done for my mother. When she was dying I wanted it to be buried with her. But she wouldn't have it. She said I was to give it to--someone else one day. Then I didn't think there ever would be a someone else. But when I met you I sent it to New York and had it mounted in that bracelet--for you." It was absurd what a little self-control she had. Instead of retorting with something smart, or pretty, or sentimental, she was tongue-tied. Her eyes filled with tears. But he did not seem to notice it. He went on. "You'll have to give me one of yours." "I--I haven't one." "Then we'll have to set about getting one. I'll have to look round for someone who'll be likely to do you justice, though it isn't to be expected that we shall find anyone who'll be able to do quite that." It was the nearest approach to a compliment he had paid her; probably the first pretty thing which had been said to her by any man. It set her trembling so that, for a moment, she swayed as if she would fall. They were passing through the gate into the Casino grounds. He looked at the case which she still had in her hand. "Put that in your pocket." "I haven't one." She was the personification of all meekness. "Then where did you have it?" "Inside my jacket." "Put it back there. I can't carry it. That's part of the burden you'll have to carry, henceforward, all alone." She did not stop to think what he meant. She simply obeyed. When the jacket was buttoned the case showed through the cloth. Even in the midst of her tremors she was aware that his eyes kept travelling towards the tell-tale patch. For some odd reason she was glad they did. They passed from the radiance of the autumn afternoon into the chamber of the "little horses." The change was almost dramatic in its completeness. From this place the sunshine had been for some time excluded. The blinds were drawn. It was garishly lighted. Although the room was large and lofty, owing to the absence of ventilation, the abundance of gas, the crowd of people, the atmosphere was horrible. There was a continual buzz; an unresting clatter. The noise of people in motion; the hum of their voices; the strident tones of the _tourneur_, as he made his various monotonous announcements; all these assisted in the formation of what, to an unaccustomed ear, was a strange cacophony. She shrank towards Mr. Huhn as if afraid. "What are they doing?" she asked.