lies in the possibility of his marrying Martin—­I must deliberate.  Shall I or shall I not?  If it were any other woman I shouldn’t so much mind—­but—­Gladys Martin!  I can’t endure her.  There is one hope, however, namely—­that if he marries her, he will soon tire of her—­and—­and come to me.  What a tremendous score off her that would be!  But, no!  I wouldn’t do that!  Because—­because—­well there—­just like my infernal luck—­I love him.  Could I marry him, I wonder, even if there were no Gladys Martin?  It is doubtful!  Yet I believe I could.  But what is the good of conceiving impossibilities!  There is a Gladys Martin—­and—­I can never have Shiel.  The only question I have to settle is—­Shall she have him?  Shall I marry Kelson so that Martin can marry Shiel?”

Lilian Rosenberg turned this question over in her mind for a whole day and night, sometimes arriving at one decision, sometimes at another.  In the end—­very elaborately dressed, and looking daintier than she had ever done in her life, she waylaid Kelson and asked him to have tea with her.

Any pretty face, accentuated by all the allurements of a large mushroom hat and hobble skirt, was enough for Kelson; but when that face belonged to the one girl for whom, above all other girls, he had a colossal weakness, he simply could not feast his eyes enough on it.

“Have tea with you?  Of course I will,” he said.  “But we must be careful.  Hamar is about.  If you walk on up the Haymarket, I’ll follow in a taxi, and pick you up, directly I get to a safe distance.”

“I see you are as much in awe of Mr. Hamar as ever,” Lilian Rosenberg laughed.  “I’m not!  I’ve found him out—­he’s all talk.  But do as you will—­get your taxi and I’ll walk on—­we’ll have tea in my new flat.”

Kelson was so delighted he hardly knew if he stood on his head or his heels.  “You are prettier than ever,” he said, as the taxi-door shut and they sped away.  “I declare there seems no limit to your beauty.”

“Only because you’re partial,” she said.  “I shall grow ugly one day.  Perhaps—­soon.”  With a savage energy, she set to work to completely overcome him.  With a languishing expression in her eyes—­eyes, which she made use of mercilessly, without giving him a moment’s respite—­she watched his whole being vibrate with love and adoration.

They had hardly entered the drawing-room of her flat when he threw himself at her feet, and poured forth his worship of her in the most extravagant phrases.

“Look here, Mr. Kelson,” she said at length, withdrawing the hand it seemed as if he would never leave off kissing, “this is all very well; but I daresay you make love to countless other girls in this same fashion.  How can I tell if you are really serious?”

“Don’t I look as if I am?” he cried.

“One can never judge correctly by looks,” she replied; “they are terribly deceptive.  You are very emphatic in your avowals of love, but you say nothing about marriage.”