“Why don’t you come in, Carlos?” she murmured softly, and her eyes fell, “instead of knocking and making such a noise. What’s the matter?” Carpentaria was certainly astonished at the nature and tone of her remark. She seemed to wish to run away. Then he gathered himself together, with an immense show of force, as a man will when confronted by a woman who is helpless before him, but of whom he is afraid. “I don’t want to come in,” he said. “Why?” she demanded. “You know why,” he said. “Indeed I don’t,” she asserted; and she laughed--a curt laugh. “You promised me you wouldn’t see Ilam again at present,” said Carpentaria stoutly. Juliette tossed ever so little her charming head, with its admirable coiffure. “I did,” she admitted. “Well,” said Carpentaria, “he is at this moment in the sitting-room.” Juliette’s dainty nostrils began to dilate. “Carlos,” she said disdainfully, “do you know what you are saying? To me! Mr. Ilam is not here. I have already asked you to come in!” “Yes,” said Carpentaria, “but you don’t make way for me. You keep well in the doorway, Juliette!” She moved aside with a gesture of the finest feminine scorn. “Is there space for you to enter?” she said, bitterly sarcastic. Carpentaria stepped forward one pace. His foot was on the door-mat. “Stop a moment, Carlos,” she said warningly, lifting her arm. “I repeat that Mr. Ilam is not here. I cannot imagine what put the idea into your head. But whatever put it in, let me advise you to put it out again at once. Under the circumstances, if you come into this room, now that I have distinctly told you that Mr. Ilam is not here, it will be equivalent to calling me a liar. I could not suffer that, even from you, Carlos. I should leave you. We should quarrel for ever. Think what you are doing.” Tears stood in her eyes. Carpentaria shuffled his feet in an agony of uncertainty. “Come in if you doubt me,” Juliette continued. “But if you do, it will be the end.” Carpentaria turned slowly away, and passed down the corridor. “Of course I don’t doubt you,” he called out. Juliette made no response. She waited till her half-brother had descended the stairs, then she shut the door quietly, and ran to the Louis Quinze sofa, with its gilded borders, that stood a little way from the window. “You can come out,” she whispered. And from behind the sofa emerged the bulky form of Josephus Ilam. “Great heavens!” he muttered, searching in his pocket for a handkerchief. Juliette sat down on a chair and burst into tears. The contrast between their two handkerchiefs--Ham’s enormous, like himself, and Juliette’s a fragment of lace no larger than a piece of bread-and-butter--was one of those trifles which put an edge of the comical on the tragic stuff of life. “You are an astounding woman!” exclaimed Ilam, wiping his brow. “I have lied to him--I have deceived him. You heard what I said?” whimpered Juliette. “You behaved superbly,” said Ilam.