They were both rather white now; her breath came and went irregularly, checked in her throat with a little sob at intervals. She leaned back against the wall, one jewelled hand against her breast, looking aside and away from where he stood. "I _told_ you," he said, unsteadily. She remained silent, keeping her gaze resolutely averted. "You understand now, don’t you?" he asked. She nodded. Then he caught her in his arms again, and she threw back her lovely head, looking at him with frightened eyes, defending her lips with a bare, jewelled arm across them. He laughed breathlessly and kissed the partly clenched fingers. "Don’t," she whispered, her grey eyes brilliant with fear. "Do you understand that I am in love with you, Steve?" "Let me go, Jim——" "_Do_ you?" "_Don’t_ kiss me—that way——" "Do you believe me?" "I don’t want to!——" Suddenly she turned terribly white in his arms, swayed a moment against him. He released her, steadied her; she passed one arm through his, leaning heavily on him. "Are you faint, Steve?" he whispered. "A—little. It’s nothing. The air here is stifling.... I’m tired." ... She dropped her head against his shoulder. Her lids were half closed as they descended the steps, he guiding her. It seemed to her an interminable descent. She felt as though she were falling through space into a glittering, roaring abyss. In their box sat Helen and Grayson, gossiping gaily together and waiting for another dance to begin. Cleland warned Stephanie in a whisper, and she lifted her head and straightened up with an effort. She said mechanically: "I’m going home; I’m very tired." Helen and Grayson rose and the former came toward her inquiringly. Stephanie smiled: "Jim will take me back," she said. "Don’t let me disturb your pleasure. And tell Oswald I was very sleepy.... And not to come to the studio for a day or two. Good night, dear." She made a humorously tired little gesture of farewell to Grayson also, and, taking Cleland’s arm again, sauntered with him toward the lobby. "Get your overcoat and my wraps," she said in a colourless, even voice. "I have a car outside. Here’s the call-check. I’ll wait over there for you." Her car, a toy limousine, was ultimately found. Cleland redeemed his overcoat and her wrap. When he came back for her she smiled at him, suffered him to swathe her in the white silk cloak, and, laying her dainty hand lightly on his sleeve, went out with him into the lamp-lit grey of dawn. "You are feeling better," he said as they seated themselves in the limousine and the little car rolled away southward. "Yes. It was the stifling atmosphere there, I suppose." "It was horribly close," he assented. They remained silent for a while. Then, abruptly: "Have I made you angry, Steve?" he asked. She looked up and laughed: "You adorable boy," she said. "You don’t mind if I’m in love with you?" he asked.