He had felt deeply about it before he had seen Amaryllis. He thought of the myth of Eros and Psyche. His emotions had been much as Psyche's before she lit the lamp. And now the lamp had been lighted--his eyes had seen what his arms had clasped, the reality was more lovely than his dream, and passion was kindled a hundredfold. It swept him off his feet. He forgot war and the horror of the time, he forgot everything except that he longed for Amaryllis. "She is mine, absolutely mine," he said wildly. "Not John's." And then he remembered his promise, given before any personal equation had entered into the affair. Never to take advantage of the situation--afterwards! And what would the child be like? A true Ardayre, of course--they would say that it had harked back, perhaps, to that Elizabethan Denzil whom his father had told him was his exact portrait in the picture gallery at Ardayre. He could have laughed at the sardonic humour of everything if he had not been too overcome with passionate desire to retain any critical sense. Then he sat down and forced himself to realise what it meant--parenthood. Not much to a man, as a rule. He had looked upon those occult stirrings of the spirit of which he had read as romantic nonsense. It was a natural thing and all right if a man had a place for him to wish to have a son--but otherwise, sentimentality over such things was such rot! And yet now he found himself thrilling with sentiment. He would like to talk to Amaryllis all about it, and listen to her thoughts, too. And then he remembered the many discussions with Verisschenzko upon the theory of re-birth and of the soul's return again and again until its lessons are learned on this plane of existence, and he wondered what soul would animate the physical form of this little being who would be his and hers. And suddenly in his mental vision the walls of the room seemed to fade, and he was only conscious of a vastness of space, and knew that for this brief moment he was looking into eternity and realising for the first time the wonder of things. * * * * * Meanwhile Verisschenzko had returned to the Carlton and was softly walking down the passage towards the Boleskis' rooms. The ante-room door was at the corner, and as he was about ten yards from it a man came out and strode rapidly towards the lift down the corridor at right angles, but the bright light fell upon his face for an instant, and Verisschenzko saw that it was Ferdinand Ardayre. He waited where he was until he heard the lift doors shut, and even then he paced up and down for a time before he entered the sitting-room. There must be no suspicion that he had encountered the late visitor. "Darling Brute, here you are!" Harietta cried delightedly, rising from her sofa and throwing herself into his arms. "I've packed Stanislass off to the St. James' to play piquet. I have been all alone waiting for you for the last hour--I began to fear you would not come."