She did not belong to society. He had met her at a dinner given by a financial magnate. She was the wife of an upper clerk who was well respected in the business world. With adoring curiosity, she peeped into the great strange world, whose doors opened to her for the first time. He took her to the table, was vastly entertained by the lack of sophistication with which she received all these new impressions, and smilingly accepted the undisguised adoration with which she regarded him in his character of a famous horseman and rake. He flirted with her a bit and that turned her head completely. In lonely dreams her yearning for elegant and phantastic sin had grown to enormity. She was now so wholly and irresistibly intoxicated that he received next morning a deliciously scribbled note in which she begged him for a secret meeting--somewhere in the neighbourhood of the _Arkona Place_ or _Weinmeisterstrasse_, regions as unknown to him as the North Cape or Yokohama. Two or three meetings followed. She appeared, modest, anxious and in love, a bunch of violets for his button-hole in her hand, and some surprise for her husband in her pocket. Then the affair began to bore him and he refused an appointment. One evening, during the last days of November, she appeared, thickly veiled, in his dwelling, and sank sobbing upon his breast. She could not live without seeing him; she was half crazed with longing; he was to do with her what he would. He consoled her, warmed her, and kissed the melting snow from her hair. But when in his joy at what he considered the full possession of a jewel his tenderness went beyond hers, her conscience smote her. She was an honest woman. Horror and shame would drive her into her grave if she went hence an adulteress. He must have pity on her and be content with her pure adoration. He had the requisite pity, dismissed her with a paternal kiss upon her forehead, but at the same time ordered his servant to admit her no more. Then came two or three letters. In her agony over the thought of losing him, she was willing to break down the last reserve. But he did not answer the letters. At the same time the thought came to him of going up the Nile in a dahabiyeh. He was bored and had a cold. On the evening of his departure he found her waiting in his rooms. "What do you want?" "Take me along." "How do you know?" "Take me along." She said nothing else. The necessity of comforting her was clear. A thoroughgoing farewell was celebrated, with the understanding that it was a farewell forever. The pact had been kept. After his return and for two years more she had given no sign of life. He now thought of this woman. He felt a poignant longing for the ripe sweetness of her oval face, the veiled depth of her voice. He desired once more to be embraced by her firm arms, to be kissed by her mad, hesitating lips. Why had he dropped her? How could he have abandoned her so rudely?