more. I will sing to you, dance to you, even pray for you--we poor
sinners do that sometimes, and go on sinning; but, again, nothing more."

Ian admired her all the more for her refusal of him, and they had been
good friends. He had told her of his nephew's coming, had hinted at his
fortune, at his primitive soul, at the unconventional strain in him, even
at marriage. She could not read his purpose, but she knew there was
something, and answering him with a yes, had waited. Had Gaston have
come to her feet she would probably have got at the truth somehow, and
have worked in his favour--the joy vice takes to side with virtue, at
times--when it is at no personal sacrifice. But Gaston was superior in a
grand way. He was simple, courteous, interested only. This stung her,
and she would bring him to his knees, if she could. This night she had
rung all the changes, and had done no more than get his frank applause.
She became petulant in an airy, exacting way. She asked him about his
horse. This interested him. She wanted to see it. To-morrow? No, no,
now. Perhaps to-morrow she would not care to; there was no joy in
deliberate pleasure. Now--now--now! He laughed. Well then, now, as she
wished!

Jacques was called. She said to him:

"Come here, little comrade." Jacques came. "Look at me," she added.
She fixed her eyes on him, and smiled. She was in the soft flare of the
lights.

"Well," she said after a moment, "what do you think of me?"

Jacques was confused. "Madame is beautiful."