passionate."

"Am I a coward?" she asked, with a scornful laugh. "Have I ever
shown fear of my life? No, David! It is not that of which I am
afraid. It is the memory of the man's touch, it is the look which
was in your face when you came into the room. These are the things
I fear - not death."

Bellamy drew her into his arms and kissed her.

"Forgive me," he begged. "At such times a man is a weak thing - a
weak and selfish thing. I am ashamed of myself. I should have
known better than to have doubted you for a moment. I know you so
well, Louise. I know what you are."

She smiled.

"Dear," she said, "you have made me happy. And now you must go away.
Remember that these few minutes are only an interlude. Over here I
am Mademoiselle Idiale who sings to-night at Covent Garden. See my
roses. There are two rooms full of reporters and photographers in
the place now. The leader of the orchestra is in my bedroom, and
two of the directors are drinking whiskies and sodas with this new
manager of mine in the dining-room. Between five and six o'clock
this afternoon you will get the message. It is somewhere, I think,
in the city that you will have to go. There will be no trouble
about the money? Nothing but notes or gold will be of any use."

"I have it in my pocket," he answered. "I have it in notes, but he
need never fear that they will be traced. The numbers of notes