"And I didn't." "And you have not," she corrected,--"yet." He laughed abruptly. "Think of the time that has been wasted," he said. "You might have said all this to me years ago. I don't say it would have made any difference... unless it were to keep green some corner of my heart. But encouragement to be efficacious should be given when life is hardest, not when one has learnt to adapt it to one's needs. But it's generous of you to offer even a belated encouragement. I don't wish to appear ungrateful. It's more than I have deserved--or, indeed, expected of you." She stretched out a hand and laid it on his arm. "Don't be bitter, Hugh... We both have made mistakes." He looked down at the white glove that rested on his sleeve, and his lips tightened. The arm inside the sleeve was tense. There was no more response than if she had touched instead the stuffed arm of the chair. "Perhaps," he allowed. "But we won't add to our mistakes by growing sentimental." She removed her hand without speaking, and sat silent with strained face, curiously still and composed. He watched her in his aloof fashion. If he felt any interest in her beyond the ordinary interest that a man experiences in a beautiful woman, he concealed it admirably. He betrayed not the slightest regret when Van Bleit came hurrying up to them with a light wrap over his arm. He had had some difficulty in finding it. Mrs Smythe eventually assisted in the search. He was voluble and apologetic. He shot a suspicious glance at Lawless, standing at the back of the chair in the same position, leaning forward with his arms on the top of it, and then turned again to the quiet figure of the woman who had not spoken after the first smiling word of thanks. "You moved," he said. "I looked for you where I left you, but the seat was unoccupied." "It was quieter here," she explained. She rose and stood while Van Bleit put the wrap around her shoulders, and, with an exaggerated air of devotion, drew it close about her throat. Lawless bowed to her and moved away, making a slow progress along the stoep against the stream of dancers, pouring forth from the ball-room in quest of air. "Gods!" he mused, avoiding the stream mechanically while seeming not to see it. "What a queer trick of fate! What has brought her out here, I wonder? ... That's what I should like to get at... What has brought her out here?" When in the early hours of the morning Mrs Lawless appeared on the pavement on Van Bleit's arm, Lawless was standing on the kerb beside the waiting motor in the act of lighting a cigar. He tossed away the match, and opened the door for her. Then he raised his hat, and turning silently, disappeared into the blackness beyond the lights of the car. She turned her head to look after him; but the darkness had swallowed the tall figure, and the throbbing of the engine drowned the sound of his rapidly retreating steps. CHAPTER SEVEN.