"I tell you, you are not." Then, having made all clear as to their joint action upon the morrow, she spent the last half hour before they parted in instilling into his spirit every sort of comfort and subtle flattery until, when the clock struck eleven, Henry felt a sense of regret that he must say good-night.
By this time, her head was within a few inches of his shoulder, and her pretty eyes were gazing into his with the adoring affection of a child.
"You are an absolute darling, Moravia," he murmured, with some emotion, "the kindest woman in this world," and he bent and kissed her hair.
She showed no surprise--to take the caress naturally would, she felt, leave him with the pleasure of it, and arouse no disturbing analyzations in his mind as to its meaning.
"Now you have got to go right off to your little bed," she said, in a matter of fact 'mother' tone, "and I should just like to come and tuck you up, and turn your light out--but as I can't, you'll promise me you will do it yourself at once--and close those eyes and go to sleep." Here she permitted herself softly to shut his lids with her smooth fingers.
Henry felt a delicious sense of comfort and peace creeping over him--he knew he did not wish to leave her--but he got up and took both her hands.
"Good-night, you sweet lady," he said.

"You will never know how your kind heart has helped me to-night, nor can I express my gratitude for your spontaneous sympathy," with which he kissed the fair hands, and went regretfully toward the door.
Moravia thought this the right moment to show a little further sentiment.
"Good-night, Henry," she faltered.

"It has been rather heaven for me--but I don't think I'll let you dine up here alone with me again--it--it might make my heart ache, too." And then she dexterously glided to the door of her bed-room and slipped in, shutting it softly.
And Henry found himself alone, with some new fire running in his veins.
When Moravia, listening, heard his footsteps going down the passage, she clasped her hands in glee.
"I 'shall never know'! 'My spontaneous sympathy'!--Oh! the darling, innocent babe! But I've won the game.

He will belong to me now--and I shall make him happy.

Ouida was most certainly right when she said, 'Men are not vicious; they are but children.'".