“Ugly, isn’t it? Put that dam’ dog down, Fleur; I can’t see your face. If you were really fond of Michael—I swear I wouldn’t; but you’re not, you know.”

Fleur said coldly:

“You know very little; I AM fond of Michael.”

Desert gave his little jerky laugh.

“Oh yes; not the sort that counts.”

Fleur looked up.

“It counts quite enough to make one safe.”

“A flower that I can’t pick.”

Fleur nodded.

“Quite sure, Fleur? Quite, quite sure?”

Fleur stared; her eyes softened a little, her eyelids, so excessively white, drooped over them; she nodded. Desert said slowly:

“The moment I believe that, I shall go East.”

“East?”

“Not so stale as going West, but much the same—you don’t come back.”

Fleur thought: ‘The East? I should love to know the East! Pity one can’t manage that, too. Pity!’

“You won’t keep me in your Zoo, my dear. I shan’t hang around and feed on crumbs. You know what I feel—it means a smash of some sort.”

“It hasn’t been my fault, has it?”

“Yes; you’ve collected me, as you collect everybody that comes near you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Desert bent down, and dragged her hand to his lips.

“Don’t be riled with me; I’m too unhappy.”

Fleur let her hand stay against his hot lips.

“Sorry, Wilfrid.”

“All right, dear. I’ll go.”

“But you’re coming to dinner tomorrow?”

Desert said violently:

“TO-MORROW? Good God—no! What d’you think I’m made of?”

He flung her hand away.

“I don’t like violence, Wilfrid.”

“Well, good-bye; I’d better go.”

The words “And you’d better not come again” trembled up to her lips, but were not spoken. Part from Wilfrid—life would lose a little warmth! She waved her hand. He was gone. She heard the door closing. Poor Wilfrid! – nice to think of a flame at which to warm her hands! Nice but rather dreadful! And suddenly, dropping Ting-a-ling, she got up and began to walk about the room.