She had taken the precaution of telegraphing the hour of return, so found tea waiting ready for her, and the rooms looking very cozy. There were a few letters, bills chiefly, which might wait, as she didn’t want to bother Maddison with them just at once, and the dressmaker’s was for a considerable sum. Also a note from Geraldstein asking her to dine with him, curiously enough, this very evening; he would call for her at half-past seven, if he did not hear to the contrary. Should she accept? He had asked her once before, but she had refused, chiefly because he appeared to be so assured that she would accept. Something in his dogged sensuality appealed to her; of course, acceptance would be taken by him, and must be meant by her, as the first sign of capitulation on her part, though she had no intention whatever of surrendering at once, if at all. The thought of West gave her pause. Geraldstein would leave and forget her very quickly—variety was the essence of his pleasures. West, if she secured him, might be a lifelong friend—but—was not variety growing to be a fascination to her? West was at Brighton—she would run the risk. Geraldstein was shown into the drawing room, being told that Mrs. Squire would not keep him waiting more than a few minutes. An incredulous smile flitted across his heavy face, as he glanced impatiently at the clock, which pointed exactly to the half hour. “It’s lucky,” he thought, as he lit a cigarette, “that we want women for pleasure, not for business. Time means nothing to them.” He picked up the bills which Marian had left lying upon the mantelpiece, and looked at them quizzically. Then he glanced at a photograph of Maddison, and wondered how long the painter chap would be able to stand the racket. After a moment’s hesitation, he folded up the dressmaker’s account, and put it in his pocket. There was nothing else in the room that had any interest for him, save that he glanced at the music on the piano, and was surprised to find that it was not music-hall or musical comedy songs. Most of these women were such coarse brutes; there was something piquant and appetizing about Marian’s daintiness and culture. She came quickly in, with a pretty plea for forgiveness. “You’ve only kept me three minutes, but it seemed like an hour,” said Geraldstein restraining himself by an effort from giving way to the strong impulse to take her in his arms. “You’re evidently not an epicure, or you would know what a crime it is to keep dinner even three minutes late. However, with luck and a good horse we shall be in good time. I’ve booked my pet corner table at Goldoni’s, my pet waiter, ordered my pet dinner and my pet wine—all—in honor of you. Have you ever been to Goldoni’s?” “Never; I’ve only heard wonderful tales of it—fairy tales, I always thought them.” “Well, come along to fairyland.”