LITMIR.BIZ

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      "True enough! That's Kite. Don't you recognise his type?"

      "One thinks of Ariadne," said Piers, "but the face won't do for her."

      "Yes, it's Ariadne--but I doubt if I shall have the brutality to finish out my idea. She is to have lying on the sand by her a case of Higginson's Hair-wash, stranded from a wreck, and a bottle of it in her hand. See the notion? Her despair consoled by discovery of Higginson!"

      They laughed, but Piers broke off in half-serious anger.

      "That's damnable! You won't do it. For one thing, the mob wouldn't understand. And in heaven's name do spare the old stories! I'm amazed that Kite should consent to it."

      "Poor old fellow!" said Miss Bonnicastle, with an indulgent smile, "he'll do anything a woman asks of him. But I shan't have the heart to spoil it with Higginson; I know I shan't."

      "After all," Piers replied, "I don't know why you shouldn't. What's the use of our scruples? That's the doom of everything beautiful."

      "We'll talk about it another time. I can't stop now. I have an appointment. Stay here if you like, and worship Ariadne. I shouldn't wonder if Olga looks round this morning, and it'll disappoint her if there's nobody here."

      Piers was embarrassed. He had asked Olga to meet him, and wondered whether Miss Bonnicastle knew of it. But she spared him the necessity of any remark by speeding away at once, bidding him slam the door on the latch when he departed.

      In less than ten minutes, there sounded a knock without, and Piers threw the door open. It was Olga, breathing rapidly after her ascent of the stairs, and a startled look in her eyes as she found herself face to face with Otway. He explained his being here alone.

      "It is kind of you to have come!"

      "Oh, I have enjoyed the walk. A delicious morning! And how happy one feels when the church bells suddenly stop!"

      "I have often known that feeling," said Piers merrily. "Isn't it wonderful, how London manages to make things detestable which are pleasant in other places! The bells in the country!--But sit down. You look tired----"

      She seated herself, and her eyes turned to the beautiful figure on the wall. Piers watched her countenance.

      "You have seen it already?" he said.

      "A few days ago."

      "You know who did it?"

      "Mr. Kite, I am told," she answered absently. "And," she added, after a pause, "I think he disgraced himself by lending his art to such a purpose."

      Piers said nothing, and looked away to hide his smile of pleasure.

      "I asked you to come," were his next words, "to show you a letter I have had from John Jacks' solicitors."

      Glancing at him with surprise, Olga took the letter he held out, and read it. In this communication, Piers Otway was informed that the will of the late Mr. Jacks bequeathed to him the capital which the testator had invested in the firm of Moncharmont & Co., and the share in the business which it represented.

      "This is important to you," said the girl, after reflecting for a moment, her eyes down.

      "Yes, it is important," Piers answered, in a voice not quite under control. "It means that, if I choose, I can live without working at the business. Just live; no more, at present, though it may mean more in the future. Things have gone well with us, for a beginning; much better than I, at all events, expected. What I should like to do, now, would be to find a man to take my place in London. I know someone who, just possibly, might be willing--a man at Liverpool."

      "Isn't it a risk?" said Olga, regarding him with shamefaced anxiety.

      "I don't think so. If _I_ could do so well, almost any real man of business would be sure to do better. Moncharmont, you know, is the indispensable member of the firm."

      "And--what would you do? Go abroad, I suppose?"

      "For a time, at all events. Possibly to Russia--I have a purpose--too vague to speak of yet--I should frighten myself if I spoke of it. But it all depends upon----" He broke off, unable to command his voice. A moment's silence, during which he stared at the woman on the wall, and he could speak again. "I can't go alone. I can't do--can't think of--anything seriously, whilst I am maddened by solitude!"

      Olga sat with her head bent. He drew nearer to her.

      "It depends upon you. I want you for my companion--for my wife----"

      She looked him in the face--a strange, agitated, half-defiant look.

      "I don't think that is true! You don't want _me_----"

      "You! Yes, you, Olga! And only you!"

      "I don't believe it. You mean--any woman." Her voice all but choked. "If that one"--she pointed to the wall--"could step towards you, you would as soon have her. You would _rather_, because she is more beautiful."

      "Not in my eyes!" He seized her hand, and said, half laughing, shaken with the moment's fever, "Come and stand beside her, and let me see how the real living woman makes pale the ideal!"

      Flushing, trembling at his touch, she rose. Her lips parted; she had all but spoken; when there came a loud knock at the door of the room. Their hands fell, and they gazed at each other in perturbation.

      "Silence!" whispered Otway. "No reply!"

      He stepped softly to the door; silently he turned the key in the lock. No sooner had he done so, than someone without tried the handle; the door was shaken a little, and there sounded another knock, loud, peremptory. Piers moved to Olga's side, smiled at her reassuringly, tried to take her hand; but, with a frightened glance towards the door, she shrank away.

      Two minutes of dead silence; then Otway spoke just above his breath.

      "Gone! Didn't you hear the footstep on the stairs?"

      Had she just escaped some serious peril, Olga could not have worn a more agitated look. Her hand resisted Otway's approach; she would not seat herself, but moved nervously hither and thither, her eyes constantly turning to the door. It was in vain that Piers laughed at the incident, asking what it could possibly matter to them that some person had wished to see Miss Bonnicastle, and had gone away thinking no one was within; Olga made a show of assenting, she smiled and pretended to recover herself, but was still tremulous and unable to converse.

      He took her hands, held them firmly, compelled her to meet his look.

      "Let us have an end of this, Olga! Your life is unhappy--let me help you to forget. And help _me_! I want your love. Come to me--we can help each other--put an end to this accursed loneliness, this longing and raging that eats one's heart away!"

      She suffered him to hold her close--her head bent back, the eyes half veiled by their lids.

      "Give me one day--to think----"

      "Not one hour, not one minute! Now!"

      "Because you are stronger than I am, that doesn't make me really yours." She spoke in stress of spirit, her eyes wide and fearful. "If I said 'yes,' I might break my promise. I warn you! I can't trust myself--I warn you not to trust me!"

      "I will take the risk!"

      "I have warned you. Yes, yes! I will try!--Let me go now, and stay here till I have gone. I _must_ go now!" She shook with hysterical passion. "Else I take back my promise!--I will see you in two days; not here; I will think of some place."

      She drew towards the exit, and when her one hand was on the key, Piers, with sudden self-subdual, spoke.

      "You have promised!"

      "Yes,

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