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A great trembling was upon her! It was like a voice from the shadows of another world. And Matravers, why did he not speak? Slowly the lamp burned up. She leaned forward. He was sitting with his head resting upon his hand, and the old, faint smile parting his lips. But he did not look up! He did not speak to her! He was sitting like a carved image! "For God's sake speak to me!" she cried.

Matravers ate his luncheon and pondered, finally deciding to abandon a struggle in which his was obviously the weaker position. He lingered for a while over his coffee; at three o'clock he retired for a few moments into his dressing-room, and then descending the stairs, made his way out into the street.

The subject of their conversation had not once turned his head or moved towards them. Matravers, conscious that he was not likely to do so, returned to his seat just as the curtain rose upon the last act. The play, grim, pessimistic, yet lifted every now and then to a higher level by strange flashes of genius on the part of the woman, dragged wearily along to an end.

The little fellow, not in the least shy, and, in fact, now become rather proud of his adventure, commenced to prattle very soon. Matravers interrupted him with a question, "Won't your mother be frightened to see you like this?" The child stared at him with wide-open eyes. "Why, mammy ain't there," he exclaimed. "Mammy went away ever so long ago.

The man, hearing his footstep, looked up with a sudden start; then, without a second's hesitation, he turned and hurried off. Matravers still followed him. The man heard his footsteps, and turned round, then, with a little moan, he started running, his shoulders bent, his head forward. Matravers halted at once.

Every line, every sentence, every gesture, he makes the subject of the most exhaustive deliberation. He will have nothing spontaneous; it is positively stifling. A few more days of it and my reason will go! He is a great actor, but he does not seem to understand that to reduce everything to mathematical proportions is to court failure." "I will go and see him," Matravers said.

An attendant of the place standing by his side addressed him respectfully. "Not much of a house for the last night, sir," he remarked. Matravers agreed, and moved his head downwards towards the solitary figure. "There is one man, at least," he said, "who finds the play interesting." The attendant smiled. "I am afraid that the gentleman is a little bit 'hoff, sir. He seems half silly to talk to.

Berenice remained standing, looking thoughtfully after the little brougham, which was being driven down Piccadilly. Matravers came back to her, and laid his hand gently upon her arm. "You must not think of going yet," he said. "I want you to stay and have tea with me." "I should like to," she answered. "I seem to have so much to say to you."

He worked steadily until two o'clock. Then a simple luncheon was brought in to him, and upon the tray another note. Matravers took it with some hesitation, and read it thoughtfully. "You have made up your mind, then, not to come. Very well, I too am determined. If you will not come to me, I shall come to you! I shall remain in until four o'clock. You may expect to see me any time after then.

There was a pain at his heart like the cutting of a knife. "I cannot stay another instant," he declared. "Send Freddy over to my rooms any time. Let him come and have tea with me!" Then they parted, and Matravers walked through a world of strange shadows to Berenice's house. Her maid, recognizing him, took him up to her room without ceremony. The door was softly opened and shut.