“And there’s just the piquant touch of uncertainty as to whether I could do it—whether I could become even so much as an unofficial Mrs. Godfrey—whom Nina didn’t know, but whom she’d think about! Still—he is coming to Venice. It’s rather tempting, isn’t it, Julius?” “Does a revenge on Arsenio come into it at all?” Her smile disappeared, her face suddenly grew sad. “Oh, no, I’m having that already. I don’t want to have—not as revenge—but I can’t help it. It is so with me—no credit to me, either.” “All the same, Arsenio isn’t pleased at our friend coming to Venice. He was very glad when I took this apartment—mainly because then Godfrey couldn’t.” “If you hadn’t come, and he had—I wonder!” “Do you care for him in the very least?” I asked, perhaps rather hotly. “No,” she answered with cool carelessness. “But is that the question?” She dropped out of her chair on to her knees before the fire, holding out her hands to warm them. Her face, pale under the lamp, was ruddy in the blaze of the logs. “You’re a silly old idealist, Julius. You idealize even me—me, who did, in this very place, what shouldn’t be done—me who ran away from a good marriage and a better man—me who have knocked about anyhow for years—knowing I was always on sale—I’m on sale every afternoon on the Piazza—if only I chose to make the bargain. But you choose to see me as I was once.” She laughed gently. “Well, I think you’ve saved my life—or my reason—twice—here and at Ste. Maxime—so I suppose I must put up with you!” “You’ll never go to a man unless you love him,” I said obstinately. Suddenly she flung her hands high above her head. “Oh, what does one keep in this wicked world, what does one keep?” Her hands sank down on to her knees—as though their reluctant fall pictured the downward drag of the world on the spirit. In that posture she crouched many minutes without moving; and I, not stirring either, watched her. “I had my one virtue,” she said at last. “My primitive virtue. I was faithful to my man—even when I tried not to be, still I was. Now I’ve lost even that. It wouldn’t cost me an hour’s sleep to deceive or desert Arsenio. I should, in fact, rather enjoy it, just for its own sake.” “I daresay. But you’re not for sale—in marriage or out of it. And, as you said, isn’t your revenge complete?” “That’s the worst of revenge; is it ever, in the end, really complete?” She turned round on me suddenly and laid a hand on my knee. “Yes—that’s what has been in my mind. But it’s only just this minute that I’ve seen it. I daresay you’ve seen it, though, haven’t you? I’m becoming cruel; I’m beginning to enjoy tormenting him. I’ve read somewhere that people who have to punish do sometimes get like that, even when it’s a just punishment. But it’s rather an awful idea.”