The change of tone was thrilling to him.  He forgot her mockery, forgot his rival, and sat down at her side, almost in possession of her waist.  “Look here,” he asked, “where are we going to dine to-night?”

His nearness was not agreeable to Undine, but she liked his free way, his contempt for verbal preliminaries.  Ralph’s reserves and delicacies, his perpetual desire that he and she should be attuned to the same key, had always vaguely bored her; whereas in Van Degen’s manner she felt a hint of the masterful way that had once subdued her in Elmer Moffatt.  But she drew back, releasing herself.

“To-night?  I can’t—­I’m engaged.”

“I know you are:  engaged to me!  You promised last Sunday you’d dine with me out of town to-night.”

“How can I remember what I promised last Sunday?  Besides, after what you’ve said, I see I oughtn’t to.”

“What do you mean by what I’ve said?”

“Why, that I’m imprudent; that people are talking—­”

He stood up with an angry laugh.  “I suppose you’re dining with Chelles.  Is that it?”

“Is that the way you cross-examine Clare?”

“I don’t care a hang what Clare does—­I never have.”

“That must—­in some ways—­be rather convenient for her!”

“Glad you think so.  Are you dining with him?”

She slowly turned the wedding-ring upon her finger.  “You know I’m not married to you—­yet!”

He took a random turn through the room; then he came back and planted himself wrathfully before her.  “Can’t you see the man’s doing his best to make a fool of you?”

She kept her amused gaze on him.  “Does it strike you that it’s such an awfully easy thing to do?”

The edges of his ears were purple.  “I sometimes think it’s easier for these damned little dancing-masters than for one of us.”

Undine was still smiling up at him; but suddenly her grew grave.  “What does it matter what I do or don’t do, when Ralph has ordered me home next week?”

“Ordered you home?” His face changed.  “Well, you’re not going, are you?”

“What’s the use of saying such things?” She gave a disenchanted laugh.  “I’m a poor man’s wife, and can’t do the things my friends do.  It’s not because Ralph loves me that he wants me back—­it’s simply because he can’t afford to let me stay!”

Van Degen’s perturbation was increasing.  “But you mustn’t go—­it’s preposterous!  Why should a woman like you be sacrificed when a lot of dreary frumps have everything they want?  Besides, you can’t chuck me like this!  Why, we’re all to motor down to Aix next week, and perhaps take a dip into Italy—­”

“Oh, Italy—­” she murmured on a note of yearning.