the soft summer evening, she had seemed to be pursued everywhere by a new world of sensuous suggestions.  Of the many carriages which she had passed, hers alone seemed to savour of loneliness.  She was the only beautiful woman who sat alone and companionless.  In a momentary block she had seen a man in a neighbouring hansom slip his hand, a strong, brown, well-looking hand, under the apron, to hold for a moment the fingers of the woman who sat by his side—­Berenice had caught the answering smile, she had seen him lean forward and whisper something which had brought a deeper flush into her own cheeks and a look into her eyes, half amused, half tender.  These were rare moments with her, these moments of sentiment—­perhaps for that reason all the more dangerous.  She forgot almost the cause of her coming.  She remembered only that she was alone with the one man whose voice had the power to thrill her, whose touch would call up into life the great hidden forces of her own passionate nature.  The memory of all other things passed away from her like a cloud gone from the face of the sun.  She leaned towards him.  His face was full of wonder—­wonder, and the coming joy.

“Berenice!” he exclaimed.

She let herself drift down the surging tide of this suddenly awakened passion.  She held out her arms and pressed her lips on his as he caught her.

* * * * *

Presently she pushed him gently away—­held him there at arm’s length.

“This is too absurd,” she murmured, and drew him once more towards her with a choking little laugh.  “I came for something quite different!”

“What does it matter what you came for, so long as you stay,” he answered.  “Say that you came to bring a glimpse of paradise to a lonely man!”

She disengaged herself, and her long white fingers strayed mechanically to her tumbled hair.  The elegant precision of her toilette had given place to a most distracting disarray.  She felt her cheeks burning still, and the lace at her bosom was all crushed.

“And I was on my way to a dinner party,” she whispered, with humorously uplifted eyebrows.  “I must drive back home, and—­and—­”

“And what?” he demanded.

“And send an excuse,” she declared, demurely.  “I am not equal to a family dinner party.”

“And afterwards?”

She smiled.

“Would you like,” she asked, “to take me out to dinner?”

“Would I like!”

“Go and change, and call for me in half an hour.  We can go somewhere where we are not likely to be seen,” she said, softly.  “I must cover myself up in my cloak.  Whatever will Perkins say?  Please remember that I have no hat.”

He held her hands and looked into her eyes.

“Don’t go for one moment,” he pleaded.  “I want to realize it.  I want to feel sure of you.”

The gravity of his manner was for a moment reflected in her tone.