Athalie

"You go about with him?"

"Whenever he asks me. I went with him last Sunday to the Museum of

Natural History. Just think, Clive, I had never been. And, do you

know, he could scarcely drag me away."

"I suppose you dined with him afterward," he said coolly.

"Yes, at a funny little place--I couldn't tell you where it is--but

everybody seemed to know everybody else and it was so jolly and

informal--and such good food! I met a number of people there some of

whom have called on me since--"

"What sort of people?"

"About every interesting sort--men like Captain Dane, writers,

travellers, men engaged in unusual professions. And there were a few

delightful women present, all in some business or profession. Mlle.

Delauny of the Opera was there--so pretty and so unaffected. And there

was also that handsome suffragette who looks like Jeanne d' Arc--"

"Nina Grey."

"Yes. And there was a rather strange and fascinating woman--a

physician I believe--but I am not sure. Anyway she is associated with

the psychical research people, and she asked if she might come to see

me--"

He made an impatient movement--quite involuntary--and Hafiz who was

timid, sprang from Athalie's lap and retreated, tail waving, and ears

flattened for expected blandishments to recall him.

Athalie glanced up at the man beside her with a laugh on her lips,

which died there instantly.

"What is the matter, Clive?"

"Nothing," he said.

His sullen face remained in profile, and after a moment she laid her

hand lightly, questioningly on his sleeve.

Without turning he said: "I don't know what is the matter with me, so

don't ask me. Something seems to be wrong. I am, probably.... And I

think I'll go home, now."

But he did not stir.

After a few moments she said very gently: "Are you displeased with me

for anything I have said or done? I can't imagine--"

"You can't expect me to feel very much flattered by the knowledge that

you are constantly seen with other men where you and I were once so

well known."

"Clive! Is there anything wrong in my going?"

"Wrong? No:--if your own sense of--of--" but the right word--if there

were such--eluded him.

"I know how you feel," she said in a low voice. "I wrote you that it

seemed strange, almost sad, to be with other men where you and I had

been together so often and so--so happily.