"You needn't dwell upon unpleasant names. Some of the best people in England have been obliged to cross the water for the same reasons that render your residence here unpleasant. There's nothing to be gained by sentimental talk about the business, my dear Paulina. My friends at the clubs have begun to grow suspicious of this house, and I don't think there's a chance of my ever winning another sovereign in these rooms. Why, then, should you remain to be tormented by your creditors? Return to Paris, where you have twice as many devoted slaves and admirers as in this detestable straight-laced land of ours. I will slip across as soon as ever I can settle my affairs here some way or other, and once more you may be queen of a brilliant _salon_, while I--" "While you may find a convenient cat's paw for getting hold of new plunder," cried Paulina, with unmitigated scorn. Then, with a sudden burst of passion, she exclaimed, "Oh, Sir Reginald Eversleigh, I thank Providence for this interview. At last--at last, I understand you completely. I have been testing you, Sir Reginald--I have been sounding your character. I have stooped to beg for help from you, in order that I might know the broken reed on which I have leaned. And now I can laugh at you, and despise you. Go, Sir Reginald Eversleigh; this house is mine--my home--no longer a private gambling-house--no longer a snare for the delusion of your rich friends. I am no longer friendless. My debts have been paid--paid by one who, if he had owned but one sixpence, would have given it to me, content to be penniless himself for my sake. I have no need of your help. I am not obliged to creep away in the night like a felon, from the house that has sheltered me. I can now dare to call myself mistress of this house, unfettered by debt, untrammelled by the shameful secrets that made my life odious to me; and my first act as mistress of this house shall be to forbid its doors to you." "Indeed, Madame Durski!" cried Reginald, with a sneer; "this is a wonderful change." "You thought, perhaps, there were no limits to a woman's folly," said Paulina; "but you see you were wrong. There is an end even to that. And now, Sir Reginald Eversleigh, I will wish you good evening, and farewell." "Is this a farce, Paulina?" asked the baronet, in a voice that was almost stifled by rage. "No, Sir Reginald, it is a stern reality," answered Madame Durski, laying her hand on the bell. Her summons was speedily answered by Carlo Toas. "Carlo, the door," she said, quietly. The baronet gave her one look--a dark and threatening glance--and then left the room, followed by the Spaniard, who conducted him to his cab with every token of grave respect.