“I can’t do that, Leila.  We must live it down together.”

“Wrong, Edward.  You should take things as they are.”

With a heavy sigh Pierson answered: 

“I wish I could see her future.  She’s so attractive.  And her defences are gone.  She’s lost faith, and belief in all that a good woman should be.  The day after she came back she told me she was ashamed of herself.  But since—­she’s not given a sign.  She’s so proud—­my poor little Nollie.  I see how men admire her, too.  Our Belgian friend is painting her.  He’s a good man; but he finds her beautiful, and who can wonder.  And your friend Captain Fort.  Fathers are supposed to be blind, but they see very clear sometimes.”

Leila rose and drew down a blind.

“This sun,” she said.  “Does Jimmy Fort come to you—­often?”

“Oh! no; very seldom.  But still—­I can see.”

‘You bat—­you blunderer!’ thought Leila:  ’See!  You can’t even see this beside you!’

“I expect he’s sorry for her,” she said in a queer voice.

“Why should he be sorry?  He doesn’t know:” 

“Oh, yes!  He knows; I told him.”

“You told him!”

“Yes,” Leila repeated stubbornly; “and he’s sorry for her.”

And even then “this monk” beside her did not see, and went blundering on.

“No, no; it’s not merely that he’s sorry.  By the way he looks at her, I know I’m not mistaken.  I’ve wondered—­what do you think, Leila.  He’s too old for her; but he seems an honourable, kind man.”

“Oh! a most honourable, kind man.”  But only by pressing her hand against her lips had she smothered a burst of bitter laughter.  He, who saw nothing, could yet notice Fort’s eyes when he looked at Noel, and be positive that he was in love with her!  How plainly those eyes must speak!  Her control gave way.

“All this is very interesting,” she said, spurning her words like Noel, “considering that he’s more than my friend, Edward.”  It gave her a sort of pleasure to see him wince.  ‘These blind bats!’ she thought, terribly stung that he should so clearly assume her out of the running.  Then she was sorry, his face had become so still and wistful.  And turning away, she said: 

“Oh!  I shan’t break my heart; I’m a good loser.  And I’m a good fighter, too; perhaps I shan’t lose.”  And snapping off a sprig of geranium, she pressed it to her lips.

“Forgive me,” said Pierson slowly; “I didn’t know.  I’m stupid.  I thought your love for your poor soldiers had left no room for other feelings.”

Leila uttered a shrill laugh.  “What have they to do with each other?  Did you never hear of passion, Edward?  Oh!  Don’t look at me like that.  Do you think a woman can’t feel passion at my age?  As much as ever, more than ever, because it’s all slipping away.”

She took her hand from her lips, but a geranium petal was left clinging there, like a bloodstain.  “What has your life been all these years,” she went on vehemently—­“suppression of passion, nothing else!  You monks twist Nature up with holy words, and try to disguise what the eeriest simpleton can see.  Well, I haven’t suppressed passion, Edward.  That’s all.”