He smiled with a touch of the egotism she remembered. "You must see it to judge. You _will_ come and see it?" he demanded quickly. She looked at him for some time without replying; she could not keep the delight out of her eyes. Suddenly she plucked her gaze away. "There's my husband; he doesn't see us. Signal to him, please," she cried. When Simon Hart saw Emil St. Ives standing in the snow beside his wife's carriage, he approached, looking straight at Rachel. At Emil he scarcely glanced, though when the inventor opened the carriage door for him, he thanked him with a slight inclination of the head. When he was seated, Rachel put a hand on his arm. "Simon, you know Mr. St. Ives, I believe?" she said. Her voice was unusually soft and she had gone a little pale. "He has come to tell us that the heat-measurer--the _pyrometer_, I should say," she corrected herself, "works perfectly." "Ah it works, does it?" Simon repeated, and he looked coldly at Emil St. Ives. "I'm delighted to hear it," he added after a moment. "But I'll see you to-morrow at the factory and will talk over the matter then." Rachel leaned in front of her husband impulsively. "I'll come too," she said, "for I'm going to claim half the credit of the invention. And then," she went on, "I want to hear all about your other work--everything. You know I met your wife one day. Please remember me to her," she called as the horses started. "Well I found your pin," Simon said to her, and he handed her the tiny jewelled ornament. "I'm glad of that;" then, while she replaced it in her hair, "why didn't you show more interest in that heat-measuring instrument?" she asked, looking at him from under her raised arms. "Why his coming to notify us of the fact that he has succeeded with the device--if you'll excuse my saying so," with an ironical smile, "struck me as lacking in dignity, as a childish action, in fact." "Of course it was childish," she cried, "but he's an inventor. And just think how hard he's worked to please you," she continued. "He's been weeks and weeks and rejected ever so many attempts; and when he told you--you were so lukewarm. 'I'll see you at the factory to-morrow'--that's what you said to him, just as if he were a little boy to be pushed aside. It wasn't kind of you," she finished. A shadow passed over Simon Hart's face. "I think you exaggerate," he began, speaking in the slow distinct manner that was habitual with him. "However," he continued, "I'll endeavour to make up for my _lukewarmness_ to-morrow." He tried to pronounce the word in a jesting tone, but his whole aspect was serious. In a moment he leaned forward and taking one of her reluctant hands, breathing heavily, he held it against his lips.