The Borgian snake from her envenomed bed,
Or startle Nero in his golden house._

"Good stuff," Reginald remarked, laying down the manuscript; "when did
you write it?"

"The night when you were out of town," Ernest rejoined.

"I see," Reginald replied.

There was something startling in his intonation that at once aroused
Ernest's attention.

"What do you see?" he asked quickly.

"Nothing," Reginald replied, with immovable calm, "only that your state
of nerves is still far from satisfactory."




XVIII


After Ernest's departure Ethel Brandenbourg's heart was swaying hither
and thither in a hurricane of conflicting feelings. Before she had time
to gain an emotional equilibrium, his letter had hurled her back into
chaos. A false ring somewhere in Ernest's words, reechoing with an
ever-increasing volume of sound, stifled the voice of love. His jewelled
sentences glittered, but left her cold. They lacked that spontaneity