Colville broke out into a laugh at the deep sigh which accompanied these words. As a whole, the thing was grotesque and terrible to him, but after a habit of his, he was finding a strange pleasure in its details. "No, no," she pleaded. "Don't laugh. There are girls that would give their eyes for it." "As pretty eyes as yours?" "Do you think they're nice?" "Yes, if they were not so mysterious." "Mysterious?" "Yes, I feel that your eyes can't really be as honest as they look. That was what puzzled me about them the first night I saw you." "No--did it, really?" "I went home saying to myself that no girl could be so sincere as that Miss Graham seemed." "Did you say that?" "Words to that effect." "And what do you think now?" "Ah, I don't know. You had better go as the Sphinx." Imogene laughed in simple gaiety of heart. "How far we've got from the ball!" she said, as if the remote excursion were a triumph. "What shall we really go as?" "Isis and Osiris." "Weren't they gods of some kind?" "Little one-horse deities--not very much." "It won't do to go as gods of any kind. They're always failures. People expect too much of them." "Yes," said Colville. "That's human nature under all circumstances. But why go to an Egyptian ball at all?" "Oh, we must go. If we both stayed away it would make talk at once, and my object is to keep people in the dark till the very last moment. Of course it's unfortunate your having told Mrs. Amsden that you were going away, and then telling her just after you came back with me that you were going to stay. But it can't be helped now. And I don't really care for it. But don't you see why I want you to go to all these things?" "All these things?" "Yes, everything you're invited to after this. It's not merely for a blind as regards ourselves now, but if they see that you're very fond of all sorts of gaieties, they will see that you are--they will understand----" There was no need for her to complete the sentence. Colville rose. "Come, come, my dear child," he said, "why don't you end all this at once? I don't blame you. Heaven knows I blame no one but myself! I ought to have the strength to break away from this mistake, but I haven't. I couldn't bear to see you suffer from pain that I should give you even for your good. But do it yourself, Imogene, and for pity's sake don't forbear from any notion of sparing me. I have no wish except for your happiness, and now I tell you clearly that no appearance we can put on before the world will deceive the world. At the end of all our trouble I shall still be forty----" She sprang to him and put her hand over his mouth. "I know what you're going to say, and I won't let you say it, for you've promised over and over again not to speak of that any more. Oh, do you think I care for the world, or what it will think or say?" "Yes, very much." "That shows how little you understand me. It's because I wish to _defy_ the world--"