although she is the elder, do not give her your arm for dinner. She will go in first alone, and you must take me."
"I can assure you," Wrayson said, smiling, "that I shall make no difficulty about that."
"And she doesn't like to be talked to very much," Louise continued.
"I will humour her in that also," Wrayson promised. "She is a good sort to let me come here at all."
"She is very kind and very considerate," Louise said, "and her life has been a very unhappy one."
Wrayson moved his chair a little nearer.
"Need we talk about her any more?" he asked. "There is so much I want to say to you about ourselves."
She looked at him for a moment, a little sadly, a little wistfully.
"Ah! don't," she murmured. "Don't talk about definite things at all. For to-night—to-night only, let us drift!"
He smiled at her reassuringly.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "I am not going to ask you any questions. I am not going to ask for any explanations. I think that we have passed all that. It is of the future I wanted to speak."
"Don't," she begged softly. "Of the past I dare not think, nor of the future. It is only the present which belongs to us."
"The present and the future," he answered firmly.
She rose suddenly to her feet, and Wrayson instinctively followed her example. They were no longer alone. Two women, who had entered by a door at the further end of the apartment, were slowly approaching
