She turned deathly pale—­then flushed a faint crimson—­a sense of giddy faintness overcame her,—­she put up her hands to her head tremblingly, and loosening her hat took it off as though its weight oppressed her.

“I—­I am not unreasonable, Amadis,” she faltered—­“only—­I don’t understand—­”

“Well, you ought to understand,” he answered, heatedly—­“A clever little woman like you who writes books should not want any explanation.  You ought to be able to grasp the whole position at a glance!”

Her breath came and went quickly—­she tried to smile.

“I’m afraid I’m very stupid then,” she answered, gently—­“For I can only see that you seem angry with me for nothing.”

He took her hand again.

“Dear little goose, I am not angry,” he said—­“If you were to make me a ‘scene’ I should be angry—­very angry!  But you won’t do that, will you?  It would upset my nerves.  And you are such a wise, independent little person that I feel quite safe with you.  Well, now let us talk sensibly,—­I’ve a great deal to tell you.  In the first place, I’m going to Algiers.”

Her lips were dry and stiff, but she managed to ask—­

“When?”

“Oh, any time!—­to-morrow... next day—­before the week is over, certainly.  There are some fine subjects out there that I want to paint—­and I feel I could do good work—­”

Her hand in his contracted a little,—­she instinctively withdrew it... then she heard herself speaking as though it were someone else a long way off.

“When are you coming back?”

“Ah!—­That’s my own affair!” he answered carelessly—­“In the spring perhaps,—­perhaps not for a year or two—­”

“Amadis!”

The name sprang from her lips like the cry of an animal wounded to death.  She rose suddenly from his side and stood facing him, swaying slightly like a reed in a cruel wind.

“Well!” he rejoined—­“You say ‘Amadis’ as though it hurt you!  What now?”

“Do you mean,” she said, faintly—­“by—­what—­you—­say,—­do you mean—­that we are—­to part?”

The strained agony in her eyes compelled him to turn his own away.  He got up from the settee and left her where she stood.

“We must part sooner or later,” he answered, lightly—­“surely you know that?”

“Surely I know that!” she repeated, with a bewildered look,—­then running to him, she caught his arm—­“Amadis!  Amadis!  You don’t mean it!—­say you don’t mean it!—­You can’t mean it, if you love me! ...  Oh, my dearest!—­if you love me! ...”

She stopped, half choked by a throbbing ache in her throat,—­and tottered against him as though about to fall.  Alarmed at this he caught her round the waist to support her.

“Of course I love you!” he said, hurriedly—­“When you are good and reasonable!—­not when you behave like this!  If I don’t love you, it will be quite your own fault—­”

“My own fault?” she murmured, sobbingly—­“My own fault?  Amadis!  What have I done?”