"He knows I have some means of my own. Oh no, we have never quarrelled. It is just that the thing died. I should be sorry for his death, as I should be for the death of any old companion--nothing more than that. He would regard my death in the same way. There is no longer any love between us. He sends me four rather formal letters every year, and I send him four replies, telling him about London theatres and so on. It's funny, isn't it? But, my God!" (It did not sound so strong in French.) "I do not think," said Elton slowly, "that you were meant to spend your years without love." "No? How do you know?" Elton smiled. "Do you know the eyes of women who do without love and do not need it? They are the eyes of a business-like fish. Your eyes are not like that." She leant a little forward over the small table. "Look into them," she said, "and tell me what you read there." "Don't do that. Do you want to drive me mad?" "Yes--sometimes." "Well, I dare not tell you what I read in your eyes." She laughed nervously. "Is it so bad as that?" she said, and began to speak of other matters. She was intending to send a picture to the Academy, and felt quite hopeful about it. She described it to him, and he made appropriate replies; but though he watched her intently all the time he was hardly conscious of what she was saying. He tried to pull himself together. "What are we to do this evening? A theatre?" "I don't think so. I'm tired of theatres. I'm tired of everything. We will talk for a little in the lounge, and then I will take my train back again and go through the farce of trying to go to sleep." "You, too, have not been sleeping well then? Of course, you won't go back in the train. I shall drive you back." "It is frightfully good of you, but I don't really deserve so much kindness to-night. I have the feeling all the time that I am behaving badly, and talking like an idiot." "Come on into the lounge. We will both talk like idiots." They found a secluded corner, and a waiter brought them coffee. Elton watched the man's back as he went away. Then he turned to Rosamond. "Now then," he said, "about our conversation on the telephone." She paused before replying, breathing quickly, and then she spoke very rapidly and in a low voice. "Yes, you love me. I have known that for a long time. I wanted you to love me. You know the rest, don't you? I adore you. There's no one but you in the world. Now I've said it. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It's over, and we can never speak to one another again." He rose from his place. "Come," he said, "I am going to take you home. I had the car waiting here in case we wanted to go to the theatre." He signed to a waiter. "Go and find my car, Mr Elton's car," he said to the man, "and tell the driver he won't be wanted to-night. He is to go home." Rosamond looked at him wonderingly. "I--I think I see." "Of course. Get your cloak quickly, dear."