"It is just custom and convention which make us think ourselves such gods. Had woman had the same chance always, who knows what she might not have become by now! Everything is ticketed, it is called by a name and put down under such and such a heading--women are 'weak' and 'illogical' and 'unreliable' and men are 'brave' and 'sound' and 'to be trusted'--tosh! in quantities of cases--and if so, why so? Women are wonderful beings in many ways--of a courage! The way they bear things so gladly for men--think of their suffering when they have children. You don't know about it probably, men take all this as a matter of course--but I saw my sister die--after hours of it--" Denzil moved his arm rather suddenly and upset the glass of lemon squash on a little table near. Verisschenzko observed this, but went on without a break: "It is agony for them under the best conditions, and sometimes they become divine over it. Amaryllis will be divine--I hope John will take care of her--" A look of concern came into Denzil's face, and Verisschenzko watched him. Could any one be more attractive as a splendid mate for Amaryllis, he thought. He crushed down all feeling of human jealousy. His intuition would probably reveal all the mystery to him presently, and meanwhile if he could forward any scheme which would be for the good of Amaryllis and the security of the family, he would do so. "I must leave you now, old man," he said, looking at his watch. "I have a rendezvous with Harietta. I shall have to play the part of an ardent lover and cannot yet wring her neck." When Denzil was alone, he stood gazing into the fire. "That John should take care of her?"--but John was going out to fight--and so was he--and they might both be killed--What then? "Stepan knows, I am certain," he thought, "and he is true as steel; he must stand by her if we don't come back." And then his thoughts flew to the vision of her sitting opposite him at the table, with her sweet eyes turned to his now and then, the faint violet shadows beneath them and the transparent exquisiteness of her skin telling their own story by the added, fragile beauty. Oh! what unutterable joy to hold her in his arms and whisper passionate love words in her little ears, to live again the dream of her dainty head lying prone there on his breast. Every pulse in his being throbbed to bursting, seeming almost to suffocate him. "Amaryllis--Sweetheart!" he whispered aloud, and then started at his own voice. He paced up and down the room, clenching his hands. The family might go on, but the two members of it must endure the pain of renunciation. Which was the harder to bear, he wondered--his part of hopeless memory and regret, or John's of forced denial and abstinence? In all the world, no situation could be more strange or more cruel.