"Estelle!" The last strand snapped. Bertie's arms closed round the girl, crushed her supple body to his, kissed her with the reverence of great passion. "Estelle!" he said. "You are spring--turn to me." The lips that answered his, the arms that clung about his neck told him she loved him. Forgetting the barrier of custom and law, they snatched bliss from the greedy gods. Yet, even as he held her, Bertie knew this was no creature of light intrigues; she might come to him in a glory of sacrifice, to be his for all time; she would not sink to the furtiveness of secret meetings, to the sharing of her man with another home. He put Estelle in a big chair, knelt before her, told her all the folly which is never old, which the great master Passion can tune anew each time. And what were they to do? Part--and let the world rob them of their joy, or.... "It must be all or nothing now," he said hoarsely. "We could meet so often, little sweetheart--be so happy." "Living a lie," she said bravely, though with all her nature yearning for him. "No, Bertie, no." He pleaded on--pleaded with lips which touched her hotly and yet reverently, with soft whispers of what life might mean. "Estelle--then come to me. Let us go away altogether. Take some house in the country, and live for each other. People would forget in time." "And Esmé?" Estelle asked simply. "How would she live?" "I would give her money, what I could spare; then she has someone who supports her; there is no doubt of that, Estelle, or I would not be here now. I would have buried my love for you, taken her away to Cliff End if she had been faithful to me." "You do not know," Estelle faltered. "I know she can pay bills, do as she chooses. It comes from someone." Estelle sat silent. People said it came from stolen jewels, and she did not tell him. She knew him so well; she feared his burst of wrath, his going straight to Cyril Blakeney and demanding proof or retraction. "It is time to go," Estelle said. "Bertie, I'll tell you to-morrow. Come to me about four. I'll be alone. I'll tell you then." With a sudden thrill of fear and joy she knew that in her own sultry room she might be less strong. "For if I lose you, I shall go to the Devil without you," Bertie said recklessly. The heart of woman delights in self-sacrifice. Estelle knew that she would lose the world gladly to make her man happy. She was pure enough to look passion in the face and not hide hers; to joy in the thought of giving herself and to realize what it would mean. "I will come to-morrow," Bertie said, his hands heavy on her bare shoulders, his eyes more eloquent than words. The discreet waiter came padding noiselessly, took his bill and tip. "But not our sort," he muttered, as Estelle went out.