Smoking away steadily, cigar after cigar--for he was an insatiable smoker as he was insatiable in everything--Sir Edward seemed presently to be almost hidden among the smoke-wreaths, which had now thickened in the room with unexampled rapidity. At first he felt inclined to ring for a servant and have the windows opened to let in a breath of air, but there was a certain amount of interest in watching the floating veils of smoke; and, besides, in the mere act of idly watching these he could let certain vivid tableaux, with which Memory was amusing him, drift beyond the range of his attention, he hoped. So he lay back, letting the smoke thicken in the atmosphere, while he followed the fantastic wreaths lazily with his eyes. It was almost as if he were dozing as he lay there; for he could have sworn that in the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace he perceived a grey old fogey reclining among the cushions, yet with deep-sunken eyes fixed watchfully on his face. It was really absurd to have an utter stranger intrude his company on him in this unceremonious manner, and Sir Edward felt inclined to question him sharply, and, if need be, have him turned out neck and crop. But instead of taking up the intended _rôle_ of inquisitor, he found himself reduced ignominiously to the _rôle_ of the questioned one. "Where were you thinking of going to-night?" asked the Visitor. "To the theatre, or the opera, or to that 'private club' we know of?" And the Visitor looked at him with a glance of quiet intelligence which Sir Edward somehow felt powerless to resent. "I was thinking. . . ." "Of going with me? Quite right!" replied the Visitor. "With me you shall go: unless we can come to terms together. In which case, possibly, I may leave you behind _for a time_." Sir Edward ceased to smoke: and his hands trembled on his knees. But he made no movement, and uttered no protest. Before the glance of his visitor he quailed and was dumb. "Ruth Medwin, I presume, must bear her disgrace as best she can? You will neither recognize her, nor make her an allowance, I understand." "I think I have changed my mind. . . ." "Too late," said the Visitor. "After having seen _me_ you can change your mind no more." Sir Edward lay motionless among the cushions of his chair. "I should like . . . if you will allow me . . ." he began feebly. "I can allow you only one choice: and that a peremptory one. Will you go with me instantly--I think you know me--or shall I call for you again _on any terms I care to fix_?" "Will your terms be as pitiless. . . ." "You shall hear them, if you please." Sir Edward sank deeper among the soft cushions: his whole life concentrated in the watchful stare with which he fixed his eyes on his visitor's face.