Lady Bridget and Willoughby Maule were alone again.

She got up from the long chair, and as she did so her cigarette case dropped from her lap.
He picked it up and it lay on his open palm, the diamonds and rubies of her maiden initials glistening on the gold lid.

They looked at each other across it.
'I gave you this,' he said, 'and you have kept it--used it ?' He seemed to gloat over the bauble.
Her fingers touched his hand as she took the case from him, and he gave a little shiver of pleasure.
'Let me have it; I want another cigarette.' She selected two and gave him one of them.
They moved to the divan near the fireplace, where some red embers remained of the log of sandalwood.

Its perfume lingered faintly in the atmosphere.
'That's good,' he said.

'It's like you; the only thing in the god-forsaken desert that IS like you.' 'Oh, you don't know me--now.' 'Don't I! Well, your husband has given me the chance of knowing you--better--and I warn you that I shall not scruple to avail myself of the opportunity.' She shook her head dubiously.