She did not misunderstand or evade the question, and Gethryn, watching her face, thought perhaps she had expected it. But she resented his tone. “I was with a friend,” she said, simply. He came and sat down opposite her. “It is not my business,” he said, sulkily; “excuse me.” She looked at him for some moments in silence. “It was Mr Pick,” she said at length. Gethryn could not repress a gesture of disgust. “And that—Jew was in your rooms? That Jew!” “Yes.” She sat nervously rolling and unrolling her gloves. “Why do you care?” she asked, looking into the fire. “I don’t.” “You do.” There was a pause. “Rex,” she said, very low, “will you listen?” “Yes, I’ll listen.” “He is a—a friend of my sister’s. He came from her to—to—” “To what!” “To—borrow a little money. I distrusted him the first time he came—the time you heard him in my room—and I refused him. Saturday he stopped me in the street, and, hoping to avoid a chance of meeting—you, I walked through the park.” “And you gave him the money—I saw you!” “I did—all I could spare.” “Is he—is your sister married?” “No,” she whispered. “And why—” began Gethryn, angrily, “Why does that scoundrel come to beg money—” He stopped, for the girl was in evident distress. “Ah! You know why,” she said in a scarce audible voice. The young man was silent. “And you will come again?” she asked timidly. No answer. She moved toward the door. “We were such very good friends.” Still he was silent. “Is it au revoir?” she whispered, and waited for a moment on the threshold. “Then it is adieu.” “Yes,” he said, huskily, “that is better.” She trembled a little and leaned against the doorway. “Adieu, mon ami—” She tried to speak, but her voice broke and ended in a sob. Then, all at once, and neither knew just how it was, she was lying in his arms, sobbing passionately. “Rex,” said Yvonne, half an hour later, as she stood before the mirror arranging her disordered curls, “are you not the least little bit ashamed of yourself?” The answer appeared to be satisfactory, but the curly head was in a more hopeless state of disorder than before, and at last the girl gave a little sigh and exclaimed, “There! I’m all rumpled, but its your fault. Will you oblige me by regarding my hair?” “Better let it alone; I’ll only rumple it some more!” he cried, ominously. “You mustn’t! I forbid you!” “But I want to!” “Not now, then—” “Yes—immediately!” “Rex—you mustn’t. O, Rex—I—I—” “What?” he laughed, holding her by her slender wrists. She flushed scarlet and struggled to break away. “Only one.” “No.” “One.” “None.” “Shall I let you go?” “Yes,” she said, but catching sight of his face, stopped short. He dropped her hands with a laugh and looked at her. Then she came slowly up to him, and flushing crimson, pulled his head down to hers. “Yvonne, do you love me? Truthfully?”