"Why not? Just for once?" Judith replied. "Why shouldn't we play at them, like a game with the Imps? Shall I begin? I will give you an opening. Do you like my dress? And my hair? I dressed for you. I know you like me, of course. But there are times, when a woman likes to be told--what she knows!" The King was surprised, and not a little embarrassed. This was not the Judith he had expected. This was not the Judith of the afternoon. This was that other strange, dangerous Judith, of the night before. She had warned him that--it might happen again. True. But he had never imagined that it would happen again, so soon-- The entrance of the light-footed parlour-maid, in neat black, who was responsible for the service of the meal, at that moment, covered the King's silent confusion. So long as the maid was in the room only trivial surface conversation was possible. The King compelled himself to play his necessary, outward social part. But he was uneasily aware, all the time, inwardly, that Judith had noticed his embarrassment and that she was likely to resume her unexpected attack at the first opportunity. His intuition proved correct; but only partially correct. Judith was quick to take advantage of the first of the maid's temporary absences from the room to return to more intimate talk. But she struck, at once, a quieter, graver note. "What is it, Alfred?" she asked. "Do I trouble you? I am sorry. It was selfish of me. I knew that I was playing with fire, of course. But--a woman grows tired of leaving everything unsaid." Her implied appeal, and her insistence on her feminine weakness--a thing unprecedented in her!--moved the King. He felt ashamed of his own caution. "If I had the right to make pretty speeches--" he began. Then he checked himself abruptly. What was the use of evasion? Had not Judith and he agreed that plain speaking was their only hope? Judith had spoken plainly enough. The least he could do was to speak plainly, too. And, suddenly, at the back of his mind, now, were thoughts, which he had never suspected in himself, clamouring for expression,-- "But I haven't the right!" he exclaimed. "I haven't any right to be here, really. I see that now. I am in an utterly false position. I ought not to be here. I ought not to have come here, as I have done. It was not fair--to either of us. It was asking too much of--both of us. Why haven't I seen that before? I shut my eyes to it, deliberately, I am afraid. It was a mistake. It has been a mistake all through. I have been absolutely selfish. I have thought only of myself. It is only right that I should have to pay for my mistake. But the payment is all on your side. It has been give, give, give, all the time, on your side. And take, take, take, all the time, on mine. And I can make no return--"