"Good evening, Miss Rosa," he said at length, with a stiff
inclination. She responded, and once more they stared at each other. I
wondered whether they had quarrelled again, or whether both were by
some mischance simultaneously indisposed. Surely they must have
already met during the evening at the Opera!

Then Rosa, with strange deliberation, put her hand to her hair and
pulled out the jewelled dagger.

"Sir Cyril," she said, "you seem fascinated by this little weapon. Do
you recognize it?"

He made no answer, nor moved, but I noticed that his hands were
tightly clenched.

"You do recognize it, Sir Cyril?"

At last he nodded.

"Then take it. The dagger shall be yours. To-night, within the last
minute, I think I have suddenly discovered that, next to myself, you
have the best right to it."

He opened his lips to speak, but made no sound.

"See," she said. "It is a real dagger, sharp and pointed."

Throwing back her cloak with a quick gesture, she was about to prick
the skin of her left arm between the top of her long glove and the
sleeve of her low-cut dress. But Sir Cyril, and I also, jumped to stop