and decidedly the door opened, and Nick Ratcliffe stood upon the
threshold. The light struck full upon his face as he halted--a clever,
whimsical face that might mask almost any quality good or bad.

"May I come in, Miss Roscoe?" he asked.

For she had not moved at his appearance. She lay as one dead. But as
he spoke she uncovered her face, and terror incarnate stared wildly at
him from her starting eyes. He entered without further ceremony,
and closed the door behind him. In the shaded lamplight his features
seemed to twitch as if he wanted to smile. So at least it seemed to
her wrought-up fancy.

He gazed greedily at the plate of rice on the table as he came
forward. "Great Jupiter!" he said. "What a sumptuous repast!"

The total freedom from all anxiety or restraint with which he made
this simple observation served to restore to some degree the girl's
tottering self-control. She sat up, sufficiently recovered to remember
that she did not like this man.

"Pray have some if you want it," she said coldly.

He turned his back on it abruptly. "No, don't tempt me," he said.
"It's a fast day for me. I'm acquiring virtue, being conspicuously
destitute of all other forms of comfort. Why don't you eat it
yourself? Are you acquiring virtue too?"

He stood looking down at her quizzically, under rapidly flickering
eyelids. She sat silent, wishing with all her heart that he would go