Her large and intelligent eyes were still fixed upon Claude. She looked absolutely self-possessed, yet as if she were feeling something strongly, and meant him to be aware of that. And she believed that just then it depended upon Claude whether she cared for his success or desired his failure. His long resistance to her influence, followed by this partial yielding to it, had begun to irritate her capricious nature intensely. And this irritation, if prolonged, might give birth in her either to a really violent passion, of the burning straw species, for Claude, or to an active hatred of him. At this moment she knew this. "Perhaps I care too much!" she said. And instantly, as at Constantine, when the reality of her nature deliberately made itself apparent, with intention calling to him, Claude felt the invincible recoil within him, the backward movement of his true self. The spurious vanity of the male died within him. The feverish pleasure in proving his power died. And all that was left for the moment was the dominant sense of honor, of what he owed to Charmian. Mrs. Shiffney would have called this "the shriek of the Puritan." It was certainly the cry of the real man in Claude. And he had to heed it. But he loathed himself at this moment. And he felt that he had given Mrs. Shiffney the right to hate him for ever. "My weakness is my curse!" he thought. "It makes me utterly contemptible. I must slay it!" Desperation seized him. Abruptly he got up. "You are much too kind!" he said, scarcely knowing what he was saying. "I can never be grateful enough to you. If I--if I do succeed, I shall know at any rate that one--" He met her eyes and stopped. "Good-night!" she said. "I'm afraid I must send you away now, for I believe I will run in for a minute to Eve Inness, after all." As Claude descended to the hall he knew that he had left an enemy behind him. But the knowledge which really troubled him was that he deserved to have Mrs. Shiffney for an enemy. His own self, his own manhood, whipped him. CHAPTER XXXIII That night, when Claude arrived at the St. Regis, Charmian was still out. She did not return till just after midnight. When she came into the sitting-room she found Claude in an armchair near the window, which was slightly open. He had no book or paper, and seemed to be listening to something. "Claudie! Why, what are you doing?" she asked. "Nothing," he said. "But the window! Aren't you catching cold?" He shook his head. "I believe you were listening to 'New York'!" she continued, taking off her cloak. "I was." She put her cloak down on the sofa. "Listening for the verdict?" she said. "Trying to divine what it will be?" "Something like that, perhaps." "There is still a good deal of the child in you, Claude," she said seriously, but fondly too. "Is there? Too much perhaps," he answered in a low voice. "What's the matter? Are you feeling depressed?" She sat down close to him. "Are you doubtful, anxious to-night?"