"You must," he replied. The inflexibility of his manner affected her, as he had known it would. When he sat down in the low seat at her side, and held out the cup, she took it. "Go and get the wine," she said, without looking at him. He went at once, neither speaking nor glancing back at her. He was glad of the opportunity of turning his face away from her, since he felt that, in spite of his determination, it was losing something of its expressionless calm. When he entered the room Mrs. Sylvestre still stood where he had left her. It was she who was speaking now, and Tredennis, who was listening, looking down upon her with an expression of much interest. When he had procured a glass of wine and a sandwich Arbuthnot went to her. "I have secreted Mrs. Amory in the conservatory," he said, "with a view of inducing her to take something in the form of sustenance. I can produce her at a moment's notice if she is needed." "That was consideration," she replied. "It was humanity," he answered, and went away. Bertha had finished the coffee when he returned to her. The blanched look had left her, and her voice, when she spoke, sounded more natural and steady. "It did me good," she said, and this time she looked at him, and there was something in her uplifted eyes which touched him. "I knew it would," he answered. "You always know," she said. "There is no one who knows so well what is good for me"; and she said it with great gentleness. He took refuge from himself, as he sometimes found it discreet to do, in his usual airy lightness. "I am all soul myself," he remarked, "as you may have observed, and I understand the temptation to scorn earthly food and endeavor to subsist wholly upon the plaudits of the multitude. You will, perhaps, permit me to remark that though the new gown"--with an approving glance at it--"is an immense and unqualified success, I doubt its power to sustain nature during the six or eight hours of a New Year's reception." Bertha glanced down at it herself. "Do you think it is pretty?" she asked. "I shouldn't call it pretty," he replied. "I should call it something more impressive." She still looked at it. "It is a flaring thing," she said. "No, it isn't," he returned, promptly. "Not in the least. You might call it brilliant--if you insist on an adjective. It is a brilliant thing, and it is not like you in the least." She turned toward him. "No," she said, "it isn't like me in the least." "It looks," remarked Arbuthnot, giving it some lightly critical attention, "as if you had taken a new departure." "That is it exactly," she returned. "You always say the right thing. I have taken a new departure." "Might I ask in what direction?" he inquired. "Yes," she responded. "I will tell you, as a fair warning. I am going to be a dazzling and worldly creature."