He made the mistake of laying hands on her--hot, red, puffy hands; and she struck him across his fixed grin with all her strength. Breathless, motionless, they fell back, still confronted. A streak of bright blood divided his chin, running down from his mouth, dripping faster and faster to the rug. He got out his handkerchief, staunched the flow, spoke while the handkerchief grew sopping red: “That’s all right, sweetness. Sorry I was premature. You take your time about it--take all the time you need. Then give me my answer.” “I’ll give it to you now,” she said unsteadily. “I don’t want it now, Eris----” She smiled: “You’ve already had part of it. The rest is this: I’m engaged--or practically so--to a man I’m going to marry some day.... And, as to what you’ve said and done this evening, I’m not very much shocked. They said you were that kind. You look it.... I’m not angry, either. The whole affair is so petty. And you don’t seem to know any better. I think,” she added, “that I’m more bored than annoyed. Good-night, Mr. Smull.” “Eris!” “What?” “If I were divorced would you marry me?” “No,” she said contemptuously. “And that’s _that_!” To the man at the hall door she said: “Please call a taxi for Miss Odell,” and passed on to the silver-rose boudoir where she took her scarf and reticule from a chair and tossed Smull’s orchids onto the dresser. “Oh, dear,” she thought to herself, “--such cheap, such petty wickedness! If I’m out of a job it will complete the burlesque.” At the hall door the servant had vanished and Smull stood waiting. “I’m sorry, Eris,” he said. “I’m sorry, too. You won’t want me for another picture, I suppose.” “Would you stay?” “I have to, don’t I? There’s my contract, you know.” “Good God, Eris, I didn’t realise I loved you seriously. I’m half-crazed by this; I--I don’t know what to do----” “Then let me suggest that you talk it over with your wife,” she said. “That ought to be a household remedy for you, Mr. Smull.” She passed him, stepped to the lift, rang, turned and laughed at him with all the insolence of virgin intolerance. “You little slut,” he said in a distinct voice that quivered, “I don’t get you but you’ve played me for a sucker. You’re out! Do you get that? Now run to your Kike attorney with your contract!--God damn your soul!” As she stepped into the lift she thought: “--Burlesque and all.” But the strain was telling and she was close to tears as she went out into Park Avenue and got wearily into her taxi-cab. “Oh, dear,” she said in a low voice. “Oh, dear.” But reaction was tiring her to the edge of drowsiness. She yawned, wiped the unshed tears from her eyes with her wisp of a handkerchief, yawned again, and lay back in the cab closing the grey virgin eyes that had looked into hell and found the spectacle a cheap burlesque. CHAPTER XXVI