She turned her head on the pillow; the flower she had taken from him lay beside her on her night table, limp, discoloured, malodorous; and she picked it up, daintily, and flung it into the fireplace. At the same moment the telephone rang downstairs in the library. Presently her maid knocked, announcing Mr. Quarren on the wire. "I'm not at home," said Strelsa, surprised, or rather trying to feel a certain astonishment. What really surprised her was that she felt none. Her maid was already closing the door behind her when Strelsa said: "Wait a moment, Freda." And, after thinking, she smiled to herself and added: "You may set my transmitter on the table beside me, and hang up the receiver in the library.... Be sure to hang it up at once." Then, sitting up in bed, she unhooked the receiver and set it to her ear. "Mr. Quarren," she began coldly, and without preliminary amenities, "have you any possible excuse for awaking me at such an unearthly hour as mid-day?" "Good Lord," he exclaimed contritely, "did I do that?" She had no more passion for the exact truth than the average woman, and she quibbled: "Do you think I would say so if it were not true?" she demanded. "No, of course not----" "Well, then!" An indignant pause. "But," she added honestly, "I was not exactly what you might call asleep, although it practically amounts to the same thing. I was reposing.... Are _you_ feeling quite fit this morning?" she added demurely. "I'd be all right if I could see you----" "You can't! What an idea!" "Why not? What are you going to do?" "There's no particular reason why I should detail my daily duties, obligations, and engagements to you; is there?--But I'm an unusually kind-hearted person, and not easily offended by people's inquisitiveness. So I'll overlook your bad manners. First, then, I am lunching at the Province Club, then I am going to a matinée at the Casino, afterward dropping in for tea at the Sprowls, dining at the Calderas, going to the Opera with the Vernons, and afterward, with them, to a dance at the Van Dynes.... So, will you kindly inform me where _you_ enter the scene?" She could hear him laugh over the telephone. "What are you doing just now?" he asked. "I am seated upon my innocent nocturnal couch, draped in exceedingly intimate attire, conversing over the telephone with the original Paul Pry." "Could anything induce you to array yourself more conventionally, receive me, and let me take you to your luncheon at the Province Club?" "But I don't _wish_ to see you." "Is that perfectly true?" "Perfectly. I've just thrown your gardenia into the fireplace. Doesn't that prove it?" "Oh, no. Because it's too early, yet, for either of us to treasure such things----" "What horrid impertinence!" "Isn't it! But your heavenly gift of humour will transform my impudence into a harmless and diverting sincerity. Please let me see you, Mrs. Leeds--just for a few moments." "Why?"