"Parfaitement, madame," the girl murmured, and hurried away. Wilhelmina opened the door of a sitting-room--the most wonderful apartment Macheson had ever seen. A sudden nervousness seized him. He felt his knees shaking, his heart began to thump, his brain to swim. All at once he realized where he was! It was not the lady of Thorpe, this! It was the woman who had come to him with the storm, the woman who had set burning the flame which had driven him into a new world. He looked around half wildly! He felt suddenly like a trapped animal. It was no place for him, this bower of roses and cushions, and all the voluptuous appurtenances of a chamber subtly and irresistibly feminine! He was bereft of words, awkward, embarrassed. He longed passionately to escape. Wilhelmina closed the door and raised her veil. She laid her two hands upon his shoulders, and looked up at him with a faint but very tender smile. Her forehead was slightly wrinkled, her fingers seemed to cling to him, so that her very touch was like a caress! His heart began to beat madly. The perfume of her clothes, her hair, the violets at her bosom, were like a new and delicious form of intoxication. The touch of her fingers became more insistent. She was drawing his face down to hers. "I wonder," she murmured, "whether you remember!" BOOK II CHAPTER I RATHER A GHASTLY PART Mademoiselle Rosine raised her glass. Her big black eyes flashed unutterable things across the pink roses. "I think," she said, "that we drink the good health of our host, Meester Macheson, Meester Victor, is it not?" "Bravo!" declared a pallid-looking youth, her neighbour at the round supper table. "By Jove, if we were at the _Côte d'Or_ instead of the _Warwick_, we'd give him musical honours." "I drink," Macheson declared, "to all of us who know how to live! Jules, another magnum, and look sharp." "Certainly, sir," the man answered. There flashed a quick look of intelligence between the waiter and a maître d'hôtel who was lingering near. The latter hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. It was a noisy party and none too reputable, but a magnum of champagne was an order. They were likely to make more noise still if they didn't get it. So the wine was brought, and more toasts were drunk. Mademoiselle Rosine's eyes flashed softer things than ever across the table, but she had the disadvantage of distance. Ella Merriam, the latest American importation, held the place of honour next Macheson, and she was now endeavouring to possess herself of his hand under the table. "I say, Macheson, how is it none of us ever ran up against you before?" young Davenant demanded, leaning back in his chair. "Never set eyes on you myself, from the day you left Magdalen till I ran up against you at the Alhambra the other evening. Awfully studious chap Macheson was at college," he added to the American girl. "Thought us chaps no end of rotters because we used to go the pace a bit. That's so, isn't it, Macheson?"