“I did not sleep last night, nor the night before.”

“Two nights of insomnia are enough to break anyone up.  I am very sorry, Evelyn, dear—­you ought to go away.”  Her silence perplexed him, and he said, “Evelyn, I have come to ask you to be my wife.  Don’t keep me in suspense.  Will you give up the stage and be my wife?  Why don’t you answer?  Oh, Evelyn, is it—­are you married?”

“No, I am not married, Owen.  I don’t suppose I ever shall be.  If you had wished to marry me—­”

“I know all that, that if I wanted to marry you I ought to have done so long ago.  But you said you were determined to tell me something—­what is it?” The expression of her face did not change; her lips moved a little, she cast down her eyes, and said, “I’ve got another lover.”

He felt that he ought to get very angry, and that to do so was in a way expected of him.  He thought he had better say something energetic, lest she should think that he did not care for her.  But he was so overcome by the thought of his escape—­it was now no longer possible for her to send him away—­that he could think of nothing.  It even seemed to him that everything was happening for the best, for he did not doubt that she would soon tire, if she were not tired already, of this musician, and then he would easily regain his old influence over her.  Even if she did marry this musician, she’d get tired of him, and then who knows —­anything was better than that she should go over to that infernal priest.  While rejoicing in the defeat of his hated rival, he was anxious that Evelyn should not perceive what was passing in his mind, and, afraid to betray himself, he said nothing, leaving her to conjecture what she pleased from his silence.

“I don’t intend to defend my conduct; it is indefensible....  But, Owen, I want you to believe that I did not lie to you.  Ulick was not my lover when I went to see you that evening in Berkeley Square.”

It was necessary to say something, and, feeling that any unguarded word would jeopardise his chances, he said—­

“I think I told you that night that you liked Ulick Dean.  I can quite understand it; he is a nice fellow enough.  Are you going to marry him?”

“No, I am not in love with him—­I never was.  I liked him merely.”

“I can understand; all those hours you spent with him studying Isolde.”

“Yes, it was that music, it gets on one’s nerves....  But, Owen, there is no excuse.”

“We’ll think no more about it, Evelyn.  I am glad you do not love him.  My greatest fear was to lose you altogether.”

She was touched by his kindness, as he expected she would be, and he sat looking at her, keeping as well as he could all expression from his face.  He thought that he had got over the greatest difficulty, and he congratulated himself on his cleverness.  The question now was, what was the next move?

“You are not looking very well, Evelyn.  You don’t sleep—­you want a change.  The Medusa is at Cowes; what do you say for a sail?”