"With pleasure," said Betty. But it was not with pleasure that she dined. There was something between her and Vernon. Both felt it, and both attributed it to the same cause. The three dinners that followed in the next fortnight brought none of that old lighthearted companionship which had been the gayest of table-decorations. Something was gone--lost--as though a royal rose had suddenly faded, a rainbow-coloured bubble had broken. "I'm glad," said Betty; "if he's engaged, I don't want to feel happy with him." She did not feel happy without him. The Inward Monitor grew more and more insistent. She caught herself wondering how Temple, with the serious face and the honest eyes, would regard the lies, the trickeries, the whole tissue of deceit that had won her her chance of following her own art, of living her own life. Vernon understood, presently, that not even that evening at Thirion's could give the key to this uncomforting change. He had not seen Lady St. Craye since the night of the kiss. It was after the fourth flat dinner with Betty that he said good-night to her early and abruptly, and drove to Lady St. Craye's. She was alone. She rose to greet him, and he saw that her eyes were dark-rimmed, and her lips rough. "This is very nice of you," she said. "It's nearly a month since I saw you." "Yes," he said. "I know it is. Do you remember the last time? Hasn't that taught you not to play with me?" The kiss was explained now. Lady St. Craye shivered. "I don't know what you mean?" she said, feebly. "Oh, yes, you do! You're much too clever not to understand. Come to think of it, you're much too everything--too clever, too beautiful, too charming, too everything." "You overwhelm me," she made herself say. "Not at all. You know your points. What I want to know is just one thing--and that's the thing you're going to tell me." She drew her dry lips inward to moisten them. "What do you want to know? Why do you speak to me like that? What have I done?" "That's what you're going to tell me." "I shall tell you nothing--while you ask in that tone." "Won't you? How can I persuade you?" his tone caressed and stung. "What arguments can I use? Must I kiss you again?" She drew herself up, called wildly on all her powers to resent the insult. Nothing came at her call. "What do you want me to tell you?" she asked, and her eyes implored the mercy she would not consciously have asked. He saw, and he came a little nearer to her--looking down at her upturned face with eyes before which her own fell. "You don't want another kiss?" he said. "Then tell me what you've been saying to Miss Desmond." CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRUTH. There was a silence. "Come, my pretty Jasmine lady, speak the truth." "I will: What a brute you are!" "So another lady told me a few months ago. Come, tell me." "Why should I tell you anything?" She tried to touch her tone with scorn.