For a moment she thought of answering with the truth but she knew there were men who shied away from virginity, who demanded some degree of education in body as well as mind.

``Very well,'' she said, ``I'll not catechize you. What matter the others so long as I have my place in history.''

She was striking the right note. No man ever had a better opinion of himself and indeed, with one so favored, flattery could hardly seem overdone. Brains and beauty, high position in both the social and intellectual worlds, athlete, fabled lover -- if ever the world was any man's oyster it was his.

The light supper over, Claire went to him and, slipping an arm about his shoulder, sat on his knee. He drew her close and, hand on cheek, turned her face to his. Her lips, moist and parted, spoke his name.

``Byron!''

His hand went to her shoulder and pushed aside the knotted scarf that surmounted the striped poplin gown; then, to better purpose, he took hold of the knot and with dextrous fingers, untied it. The bodice beneath was buttoned and, withdrawing his lips from hers, he set her upright on his knee and started to undo it, unhurriedly as if she were a child.

But, kindled by his kiss, his caressing hand, her desire was aflame. She sprang up and went swiftly to the bedroom. Lord Byron poured himself another glass of wine and held it up to the candle flame admiring the rich color. He drank slowly with due appreciation. It was an excellent vintage.