"This is a rude awakening." They were silent for a little while, each busy with unusual thoughts. There was a sense of nearness between them--of understanding, new and dangerously sweet. Amaryllis felt it deliciously, sensuously, and took joy in that she was touching him. John thrust it away. "I must get through to-night," he thought, "but I cannot if this hideous pain of knowledge of what I must renounce conquers me--I must be strong." He went on stroking her hair; it made her thrill and she turned and bit one of his fingers playfully with a wicked little laugh. "I wish I knew what I am feeling, John," she whispered, and her eyes were aflame, "I wish I knew--" "I must teach you!" and with sudden fierceness he bent down and kissed her lips. Then he told her to go to bed. "You must be tired, Amaryllis, after your journey. Go like a good child." She pouted. She was all vibrating with some totally new and overmastering emotion. She wanted to stay and be made love to. She wanted--she knew not what, only everything in her was thrilling with passionate warmth. "Must I? It is only ten." "I have a frightful lot of business things to write tonight, Amaryllis. Go now and sleep, and I will come and wake you about twelve!" He looked lover-like. She sighed. "Ah! if you would only come now!" He kissed her almost roughly again and led her to the door. And he stood watching her with burning eyes as she went up the stairs. Then he came back and rang the bell. "I shall be very late, Murcheson--do not sit up, I will turn out the lights. Good-night." "Very good, Sir John." And the valet left the room. But John Ardayre did not write any business letters; he sank back into his great leather chair--his lips were trembling, and presently sobs shook him, and he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Just before twelve had struck, he went out into the hall, and turned off the light at the main. The whole house would now be in absolute darkness but for an electric torch he carried. He listened--there was not a sound. Then he crept quietly up to his dressing room and returned with a bottle of the clove-scented hair lotion. "What a mercy she spoke of it," his thoughts ran. "How sensitive women are--I should never have remembered such a thing." Yes--now there was a sound. * * * * * Midnight had struck--and Amaryllis, sleeping peacefully, had been dreaming of John. "Oh! dearest," she whispered drowsily, as but half awakened, she felt herself being drawn into a pair of strong arms--"Oh!--you know I love that scent of cloves--Oh!--I love you, John!" CHAPTER IX When Amaryllis awoke in the morning her head rested on John's breast, and his arm encircled her. She raised herself on her elbow and looked at him. He was still asleep--and his face was infinitely sad. She bent over and kissed him with shy tenderness, but he did not move, he only sighed heavily as he lay there.