And between the lines Fantine gleaned all that she needed; his obvious means and that fastidiousness of his--an important factor in her game. The clock ticked on and the fire died low. The little room seemed shut off from the world. "It sounds lonely..." she said at last--"You poor boy!--I understan'." "Do you?" he leaned eagerly nearer. "No one cares--that's about it!" His arm stole round her. "Fantine ... _dear_, it's in your hands to cure, you know." He stooped down and their lips met ... The clock struck with a silver chime, ringing out the midnight hour; and Fantine, startled, drew away. Not yet--the warning rang in her ears. But McTaggart, fired by that close embrace, stung too by her shrinking gesture, caught her roughly in his arms. "Pierrot!"--she gasped--"wait ... wait! There's something--I must tell you--first..." His strong young arms were like a vise, his eyes were brilliant, pleading for him. "Fantine...?" he breathed. "No! _no_!" She forced him back with all her strength, aware of his sudden loss of control, but perfect mistress of herself. Her hands, pressed against his chest, checked him for a fleeting moment. Within his coat that the struggle forced open, her eyes detected a note of white--the corner of an envelope, and in a flash her fingers sought and found the letter, purloining it. She heard him give a little gasp, incredulous and vexed at once; his arms relaxed, the spell snapped, and twisting sidewards she slipped away out of his reach, breathless, triumphant. Little she guessed what the trick cost her! For McTaggart in common with his kind was scrupulous toward correspondence. Nothing on earth would have induced him to trifle with another's letters. And now as Fantine stood before him with a mocking smile, and in her grasp an envelope with his name upon it, in Jill's childish scrawling hand, it added the last fatal spark to resentment caused by baffled desire. "That's mine, I think." His husky voice, almost rude in his sudden anger, proved to the woman she had found the right excuse to delay her surrender. "Ah non, mon cher Pierrot!--I think I will keep your ... lettre d'amour. I'm very, ver-ry cross with you..." But her eyes belied the implied reproof. She stepped back, and the glow from the fire fell on her flushed and mischievous face, on the crumpled transparent peignoir that had fallen away from one bare shoulder. And suddenly it came to McTaggart what she was ... and his own folly! He saw that passion swayed him alone without the redeeming touch of love. "I'm sorry." He stood up, stiff and straight. "You're quite right--I lost my head!" For the shrewder side of his nature swung him back once more into safe balance. He switched on the electric light and glanced openly at the clock. "I'm afraid, too, I'm keeping you up. I'd no idea it was so late."