“After all,” he began again, “we have lives of our own… . There’s no use attempting the impossible. You’re so unprejudiced about some things, so used, as you say, to looking at the Gorgon, that I don’t know why you’re afraid to face our case, and see it as it really is—unless you think the sacrifice is not worth making.”

She stood up also, her lips tightening under a rapid frown.

“Call it that, then—I must go,” she said, drawing her little watch from her bosom.

She turned away, and he followed and caught her by the wrist. “Well, then: come to me once more,” he said, his head turning suddenly at the thought of losing her; and for a second or two they looked at each other almost like enemies.

“When?” he insisted. “Tomorrow?”

She hesitated. “The day after.”

“Dearest—!” he said again.

She had disengaged her wrist; but for a moment they continued to hold each other’s eyes, and he saw that her face, which had grown very pale, was flooded with a deep inner radiance. His heart beat with awe: he felt that he had never before beheld love visible.

“Oh, I shall be late—good-bye. No, don’t come any farther than this,” she cried, walking hurriedly away down the long room, as if the reflected radiance in his eyes had frightened her. When she reached the door she turned for a moment to wave a quick farewell.

Archer walked home alone. Darkness was falling when he let himself into his house, and he looked about at the familiar objects in the hall as if he viewed them from the other side of the grave.

The parlour-maid, Miranda, hearing his step, ran up the stairs to light the gas on the upper landing.

“Is Mrs. Archer in?” he asked.

“No, sir; Mrs. Archer went out in the carriage after luncheon, and hasn’t come back.”

With a sense of relief he entered the library and flung himself down in his armchair. The parlour-maid followed, bringing the student lamp and shaking some coals onto the dying fire.

“You are worried,” Miranda said.

“No.” He looked away from her, not wanting to invite her affection.

She neared him, walked behind his chair, and began massaging his shoulders.

“No, Miranda. Not tonight,” he said, sounding irascible.

She didn’t stop, but smoothed her hands down his chest. “Let me—”

He caught her hands, and then stood. “Thank you, but no.”

“Then at least let me massage your feet.” Her tone was almost pleading, and it softened his resolve.

“Very well, perhaps for a bit.”

Miranda went to fetch a basin of heated water, and returned to his study. She lowered herself to the floor and removed his shoes and socks, and then placed his feet in the hot water scented with eucalyptus.

“Ah, that’s is much better,” he said, although his mind was still plagued with what he would say to Ellen tomorrow. She would come, she would, he thought.

Miranda massaged one of his feet, and then the other, and before long Newland was dozing lightly. He awoke to the glorious tickling sensation of Miranda’s long tongue sliding among his toes. He immediately felt the sensation shoot to his loins, arousing him with manly desires. His breathing suddenly increased and unable to control the urge, his staff began to harden. He opened his eyes and looked down at his favorite, nurturing chambermaid. She was gazing up at him with hooded eyes and a wicked smile. She had removed her dress, and her breasts were exposed outside of her brassiere, pushed up so that her erect nipples pointed at him invitingly. She wore no undergarment to conceal her womanly flesh, and her legs were spread wide open so that her dewy orchid was fully revealed to him.