Berkeley Square was reached at length, and for the moment Mrs. Benstein banished Frobisher from her mind. All she required now was a cup of tea and a cigarette. Most society women would have sacrificed a great deal to know the secret of Mrs. Benstein’s complexion, but the secret was a simple one—she ate sparingly, and she never touched intoxicating drinks in her life. The tea was waiting in the drawing-room, the water was boiling on the spirit-kettle. A slight, dark man rose as Mrs. Benstein entered. "I’ll take a cup with you, Isa," he said. "Nobody makes such tea as yours." "Paul Lopez," the hostess said. "I have not been honoured like this since the day when you and I——" "Agreed to part. Who was wise over that business, Isa? No sugar, please. I loved you too well——" "Never! You are incapable of loving anybody, Paul. I gave you the whole of my affection—and a scarlet, flaming plant it was—and you trampled it down and killed it. Not so much as a cutting remains. And why? Because you were ambitious and I had no money." Lopez waved the accusation aside with his Apostle spoon. "It was the wiser part," he said calmly. "I shall never be rich like Aaron, for instance, though I have ten times his intellect. My love of perilous adventure prevents that. And when I look round me, I am quite pleased with myself. Persian carpets, Romneys, Knellers, Lelys, Louis Quinze furniture, Cellini silver, even Apostle spoons. Have you got a complete set?" "So I understand," Isa Benstein said carelessly. "And there you have the keynote of this wonderful house. The exquisite pleasure you must have had in the collecting of all these beautiful things! And yourself?" Mrs. Benstein smiled queerly as she bent over the teapot. When the time came she was going to be even with this man, though, characteristically, she had no flaming anger against him. She had loved him once, and let him see it, and he had weighed the possibilities, and coldly told her it was not good enough, or words to that effect. The secret was theirs alone. "You cannot say that you are not happy," Lopez said after a long pause. "Well, no. Happiness is but a negative quality, after all. I am probably a great deal happier than if I had married a scoundrel like yourself, for instance. That is Aaron’s voice in the hall. I suppose you have come to see him on business, or you would not be here at all." Lopez gravely accepted his dismissal. All this wonderful beauty and intellect would have been his had he at one time chosen to take it. Slowly and thoughtfully Mrs. Benstein went up to dress for dinner. She chose her gown and her jewels and her flowers with the utmost care; she might have been going to a state concert or dance, from the nicety of her selection. "Madame is going out to-night?" the maid suggested.