with an impatient but fascinated gaze, and tried to think about
something to talk about for his edification, and could not.

"Thank you, Willis; that will do, Willis. I'll ring if I want anything
else. I don't know, Captain Carey, whether you are one of those
people who despise tea and cake--"

They were alone once more. Captain Carey refused the proffered
refreshment. Mrs Ewing, making no effort to persuade him, took a few
mouthfuls hastily; then she set her cup down, and with a quick flirt of
the hand, extinguished the two pink lamps. They were old-fashioned
gas-lamps too.

"We don't want lights to talk by," she said, in a casual way. "The
firelight is enough. I think firelight at this hour so much the
pleasantest, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," he responded desperately, and indeed was glad of the shelter
of a shadow on his face; but he said to himself, with clenched hands
and a long indrawn breath, "Now comes the tug-of-war."

A very large and wide sofa, low, deep-seated, full of springs and down
pillows, stood in the cosy firelight, a great, tall, curving screen
behind it. Mrs Ewing--as she had done many times before--crossed over
to this sofa, sank into its yielding depths, and looking up at her
companion, patted the empty seat beside her. The man hesitated for an
instant, and then--as he had done many times before--obeyed the
significant gesture. But now the time for preparation, for hesitation,
had expired; it was necessary to brace himself for the decisive deed.
Even as she clasped her hands beneath his ear, he unclasped them,