“No, we shall not be long. Mr MacNair is very evidently tired out.” “Yes—yes. It is very tiring, London.” When the door was closed, Helena stood a moment undecided, looking at Siegmund. He was lying in his arm-chair in a dispirited way, and looking in the fire. As she gazed at him with troubled eyes, he happened to glance to her, with the same dark, curiously searching, disappointed eyes. “Shall I read to you?” she asked bitterly. “If you will,” he replied. He sounded so indifferent, she could scarcely refrain from crying. She went and stood in front of him, looking down on him heavily. “What is it, dear?” she said. “You,” he replied, smiling with a little grimace. “Why me?” He smiled at her ironically, then closed his eyes. She slid into his arms with a little moan. He took her on his knee, where she curled up like a heavy white cat. She let him caress her with his mouth, and did not move, but lay there curled up and quiet and luxuriously warm. He kissed her hair, which was beautifully fragrant of itself, and time after time drew between his lips one long, keen thread, as if he would ravel out with his mouth her vigorous confusion of hair. His tenderness of love was like a soft flame lapping her voluptuously. After a while they heard the old lady go upstairs. Helena went very still, and seemed to contract. Siegmund himself hesitated in his love-making. All was very quiet. They could hear the faint breathing of the sea. Presently the cat, which had been sleeping in a chair, rose and went to the door. “Shall I let her out?” said Siegmund. “Do!” said Helena, slipping from his knee. “She goes out when the nights are fine.” Siegmund rose to set free the tabby. Hearing the front door open, Mrs Curtiss called from upstairs: “Is that you, dear?” “I have just let Kitty out,” said Siegmund. “Ah, thank you. Good night!” They heard the old lady lock her bedroom door. Helena was kneeling on the hearth. Siegmund softly closed the door, then waited a moment. His heart was beating fast. “Shall we sit by firelight?” he asked tentatively. “Yes—If you wish,” she replied, very slowly, as if against her will. He carefully turned down the lamp, then blew out the light. His whole body was burning and surging with desire. The room was black and red with firelight. Helena shone ruddily as she knelt, a bright, bowed figure, full in the glow. Now and then red stripes of firelight leapt across the walls. Siegmund, his face ruddy, advanced out of the shadows. He sat in the chair beside her, leaning forward, his hands hanging like two scarlet flowers listless in the fire glow, near to her, as she knelt on the hearth, with head bowed down. One of the flowers awoke and spread towards her. It asked for her mutely. She was fascinated, scarcely able to move. “Come,” he pleaded softly.