every other topic. He sat for hours buried in the newly awakened
memories that that one brief glimpse of her had conjured up, unable,
unwilling to rouse himself.

And then he made a compromise with his own weakness and irresolution.
He would not go to Cecil Street, since by so doing he would be
offering a tacit insult to the woman he had pledged himself to marry,
but he would, he must see Bella, himself unseen and his presence
unsuspected, and this he could effect easily by going to the Empire.

The notion pleased him, and that self-same evening he carried it out.

Bella was worse. She could no longer deceive herself. It was only by
a superhuman effort that she could pull herself together sufficiently
to sing the one song which was all her part consisted of now.

After she had got into her pretty sea-green skirts of lace and tulle
and shimmering silk, like so much sea foam, she had to lie still and,
let the poor over-strained lungs and heart recover themselves, and
then, when the summons came she called up a smile to her wan face and
pluckily did her best.

But that night she looked up at Saidie after the last ribbon was in
its place.

"I'll have to throw up the sponge, after all," she said wearily; "it
is beyond me. They are right and I was wrong,--I must have a rest."

Saidie muttered something in reply, but when the door closed upon her
sister, she sighed.