"And what then, Louie? What then? Come, don't be afraid of yourself! You know it in your heart all the time! Roy--you remember--_you_ had to make the love there; and you want to be _made_ love to, not to make love. _You_ didn't find Mr. Jeffries a butt and a laughing-stock, you know. You envied that little chit of a milliner's hand--envied her and hated her. And she hates you, and always will, because you caught her in the dark with that other creature. Yes, yes, I know you were overstrung at that time, and didn't see yourself very clearly, but look at the thing now--you're calm now. When you saw his eyes, all full of perils and stratagems and deceits, all for her sake, you know you longed to have a man do all that for _you_! And when he did that mad thing with Kitty Windus, you know you wanted a man who would go even to those lengths for _you_! And you know that when he throws her over--brutally, heartlessly, without conscience--you'll want a man who'll be just as brutal and heartless and conscienceless for _you_! You all want it! You all love a ruthless man! You know it's the men who are the merciful sex when sex comes into the question; you're only merciful when it doesn't--just as those stupid men are merciless about the abstractions you don't care a straw about!... So suppose--suppose----" "Oh, stop!" Louie besought herself faintly. "--suppose it turns out as I say! Won't you immediately love him a little more when poor Kitty's sent about her business? And won't you love him a little more still when you hear he's engaged to Evie Soames? And won't you, when you learn that he's been willing to go all lengths--all lengths--for love, love him past all mending? You will, you will, you know you will!" The cry rang out almost exultantly. "But--but--those people--coroners' juries--are supposed to know all about these things." "Coroners' juries!... Do you remember his eyes?..." Beyond that point Louie never got. She usually rose quickly and went out to post the photographer's letters. There, then, were the elements of her sum. Sometimes some of them presented themselves, sometimes others; more and more she shrank from casting the total. And often, to shake off the hideous, fascinating obsession, she did the most trivial thing she could think of--went to a drawer and overhauled her dresses, selecting the one she would wear at the photographer's showroom on the morrow. It was in her to turn from the thought of a possible murder to the shaking out of a crumpled dress. But she never wore the oyster-grey at the showrooms in Bond Street. Nevertheless she shook it out frequently, putting it back into the drawer again. * * * * *