“Because,” she answered, “I sometimes wonder what there is in the world that interests you!  Certainly, none of the ordinary things seem to.  Tonight, almost for the first time, I saw you look a little drawn out of yourself.  I was wondering whether it was the music or the people.  I suppose, until one gets used to it,” she added, looking a little wearily around the house, “an audience like this is worth looking at.”

“It certainly is not the people,” he said.  “Do you make as close a study of all your acquaintances?”

“Naturally not,” she answered, “and I do not class you amongst my acquaintances at all.  You interest me, my friend—­very much indeed!”

“I am flattered,” he murmured.

“You are not—­I wish that you were,” she answered simply.  “I can understand why you have succeeded where so many others have failed.  You are strong.  You have nerves of steel—­and very little heart.  But now—­what are you going to do with your life, now that wealth must even have lost its meaning to you?  I should like to know that.  Will you tell me?”

“What is there to do?” he asked.  “Eat and drink, and juggle a little with the ball of fate.”

“You are not ambitious?”

“Not in the least.”

“Pleasure, for itself, does not attract you.  No!  I know that it does not.  What are you going to do, then?”

“I have no idea,” he answered.  “Won’t you direct me?”

“Yes, I will,” she answered, “if you will pay my price.”

He looked at her more intently.  He himself had been attaching no particular importance to this conversation, but he was suddenly conscious that it was not so with the woman at his side.  Her eyes were shining at him, soft and full and sweet; her beautiful bosom was rising and falling quickly; there had come to her something which even he was forced to recognize, that curious and voluptuous abandonment which a woman rarely permits herself, and can never assume.  He was a little bewildered.  His speech lost for a moment its cold precision.

“Your price?” he repeated.  “I—­I am stupid.  I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Marry me,” she whispered in his ear, “and I will take you a little further into life than you could ever go alone You don’t care for me, of course—­but you shall.  You don’t understand this world, Wingrave, or how to make the best of it.  I do!  Let me be your guide!”

Wingrave looked at her in grave astonishment.

“You are not by any chance—­in earnest?” he asked.

“You know very well that I am,” she answered swiftly.  “And yet you hesitate!  What is it that you are afraid of?  Don’t you like to give up your liberty?  We need not marry unless you choose.  That is only a matter of form nowadays at any rate.  I have a hundred chaperons to choose from.  Society expects strange things from me.  It is your companionship I want.  Your money is fascinating, of course.  I should like to see you spend it, to spend it with both hands.  Don’t be afraid that we should be talked about.  I am not Lady Ruth!  I am Emily, Marchioness of Westchester, and I live and choose my friends as I please; will you be chief amongst them?  Hush!”