‘Only what suited me,’ replied the girl, coldly, stung by the coldness and utter heartlessness of this man. ‘Oh!’ with a smile. ‘Did it include my name?’ ‘No,’ curtly. ‘Ah!’ with a long indrawn breath, ‘you are more sensible than I gave you credit for.’ Kitty rose to her feet and crossed rapidly over to where he sat calm and smiling. ‘Gaston Vandeloup!’ she hissed in his ear, while her face was quite distorted by the violence of her passion, ‘when I met you I was an innocent girl--you ruined me, and then cast me off as soon as you grew weary of your toy. I thought you loved me, and,’ with a stifled sob, ‘God help me, I love you still.’ ‘Yes, my Bebe,’ he said, in a caressing tone, taking her hand. ‘No! no,’ she cried, wrenching them away, while an angry spot of colour glowed on her cheek, ‘I loved you as you were--not as you are now--we are done with sentiment, M. Vandeloup,’ she said, sneering, ‘and now our relations to one another will be purely business ones.’ He bowed and smiled. ‘So glad you understand the position,’ he said, blandly; ‘I see the age of miracles is not yet past when a woman can talk sense.’ ‘You won’t disturb me with your sneers,’ retorted the girl, glaring fiercely at him out of the gathering gloom in the room; ‘I am not the innocent girl I once was.’ ‘It is needless to tell me that,’ he said, coarsely. She drew herself up at the extreme insult. ‘Have a care, Gaston,’ she muttered, hurriedly, ‘I know more about your past life than you think.’ He rose from his seat and approached his face, now white as her own, to hers. ‘What do you know?’ he asked, in a low, passionate voice. ‘Enough to be dangerous to you,’ she retorted, defiantly. They both looked at one another steadily, but the white face of the woman did not blench before the scintillations of his eyes. ‘What you know I don’t know,’ he said, steadily; ‘but whatever it is, keep it to yourself, or--,’ catching her wrist. ‘Or what?’ she asked, boldly. He threw her away from him with a laugh, and the sombre fire died out of his eyes. ‘Bah!’ he said, gaily, ‘our comedy is turning into a tragedy; I am as foolish as you; I think,’ significantly, ‘we understand one another.’ ‘Yes, I think we do,’ she answered, calmly, the colour coming back to her cheek. ‘Neither of us are to refer to the past, and we both go on our different roads unhindered.’ ‘Mademoiselle Marchurst,’ said Vandeloup, ceremoniously, ‘I am delighted to meet you after a year’s absence--come,’ with a gay laugh, ‘let us begin the comedy thus, for here,’ he added quickly, as the door opened, ‘here comes the spectators.’ ‘Well, young people,’ said Madame’s voice, as she came slowly into the room, ‘you are all in the dark; ring the bell for lights, M. Vandeloup.’ ‘Certainly, Madame,’ he answered, touching the electric button, ‘Miss Marchurst and myself were renewing our former friendship.’ ‘How do you think she is looking?’ asked Madame, as the servant came in and lit the gas.