She seated herself, and, turning over the papers she had left, began to write. An odd sense of compunction came over him as he looked at her and realised her courage, patience, and entire submission to his will, and yet--his careful and vigilant eye noted the improved outlines of cheek and chin, the delicate, almost imperceptible softening of the lately thin and angular profile,--and the foretaste of a coming scientific triumph was stronger in him than any other human feeling. Nevertheless she was a woman, and---- Moved by a sudden impulse, he approached and bent over her as she worked. “Diana,” he said, very softly and kindly--“you will forgive me if I have seemed to you callous, or cruel?” Her heart beat quickly--she was annoyed with herself at the nervous tremor which ran through her from head to foot. “I have nothing to forgive,” she answered, simply--“I am your paid ‘subject,’--not a woman at all in your eyes. And being so, I am content to live--or die--in your service.” He hesitated another moment,--then possessing himself of the small hand that moved steadily across the paper on which she was writing, he dexterously drew the pen from it and raised it to his lips with a grave and courteous gentleness. Then, releasing it, without look or word he went from the room, treading softly, and closing the door behind him. CHAPTER XIV So she knew! She knew that, as usual, she was, personally, a valueless commodity. So far as herself, her own life and feelings were concerned, her fate continued to follow her--no one was kindly or vitally interested in her,--she was just a “subject” for experiment. She had suspected this all along--yet now that she had heard the fact stated coldly and dispassionately, she was more or less resentful. She waited a few minutes, her heart beating quickly and the vexed blood rising to her brows and making her cheeks burn,--waited till she was sure Dimitrius would not re-enter,--then, suddenly flinging down her pen, she rose and paced the room hurriedly to and fro, scarce knowing what she did. Was it not hard,--hard! she said to herself, with an involuntary clenching of her hands as she walked up and down, that she should never be considered more than a passive “thing” to be used for other folks’ advantage or convenience? How had it happened that no one in all the world had ever thought of putting himself (or herself) to “use” for _Her_ sake! The calm calculations of Féodor Dimitrius on her possible death under his treatment had (though she would not admit it to herself) inwardly hurt her. Yet, after all, what had she any right to expect? She had answered a strange, very strange advertisement, and through that action had come into association with the personality of a more than strange man of whose character and reputation she knew little or nothing. And, so far, she had “fallen on her feet,”--that is to say, she had secured a comfortable home and handsome competence