And if he had gone to the ends of the earth that night the exaltation, as a memory, might have continued, and time might have healed their hurts—­time and the starvation of absence and separation.  But fate had decreed they should meet again, and soon; and all the forces which precipitate matters should be employed for their undoing.

For all else in life Hector was no weakling.  He had always been a strong man, physically and morally.

His views were the views of the world.  It seemed no great sin to him to love another man’s wife.  All his friends did the same at one period or another.

It was only when Theodora had awakened him that he had begun even to think of controlling himself.

It was to please her, not because he was really convinced of the right and necessity of their course of action, that he had said good-bye and agreed to worship her in the abstract.

He had been highly moved and elevated by her that night in Paris.  And when he wrote the letter his honest intention had been to follow its words.

He did not recognize the fact that without the zeal of blind faith as to the right, human nature must always yield to inclination.

So they sat there and ate their supper, and forgot to-morrow, and were radiantly happy.

As they had gone down the stairs Monica Ellerwood had joined Lady Bracondale in the gallery above.

“Oh!  Look, Aunt Milly!” she had said.  “Hector is with the American I told you about in Paris.  Do you see, going down to supper.  Oh, isn’t she pretty! and what jewels—­look!”

And Lady Bracondale had moved forward in a manner quite foreign to her usual dignity to catch sight of them.

“It is the same woman he talked to at the opera last night,” she said.  “She is not an American, but a Mrs. Brown, an Australian millionaire’s wife, we were told.  She is certainly pretty.  Oh—­eh—­you said Hector was devoted to her in Paris?”

“Why, of course!  You can ask Jack.”

“I do not think we need worry, though, dear, because I am happy to say Hector shows great signs of wishing to be with Morella.”

And with this pleasing thought she had turned the conversation.

“I think we must go back now,” said Theodora, after she had finished the last monster strawberry on her plate.  “Josiah may be waiting for me.”

Oh, she had been so happy!  There was that sense vibrating through everything that he loved her, and they were together—­but now it must end.

So they made their way up the stairs and back to the ballroom.

Mrs. Devlyn had abandoned Josiah, and he stood once more alone and supremely uncomfortable.  A pang of remorse seized Theodora; she wished she had not stayed so long; she would not leave him again for a moment.

He had supped, it appeared, been hurried over it because Mrs. Devlyn wished to return, and was now feeling cross and tired.  He was quite ready to leave when Theodora suggested it, and they said good-night to Hector and descended to find their carriage.  But in that crowd it was not such an easy matter.