wariness of behaviour in his presence that he never troubled to assume
for any other man. He was careful in his dealings with him, being at all
times not wholly certain of his ground.

Other men felt the same uncertainty in connection with Monck. None--save
Tommy--was sure what manner of man he was. Tommy alone took him for
granted with whole-hearted admiration, and at his earnest wish it had
been arranged between them that Monck should take up his abode with him
when the forthcoming marriage had deprived each of a companion. Tommy
was delighted with the idea, and he had a gratifying suspicion that
Monck himself was inclined to be pleased with it also.

The Green Bungalow had become considerably more homelike since Stella's
arrival, and Tommy meant to keep it so. He was sure that Monck and he
would have the same tastes.

And so on that eve of his sister's wedding, the thought of their coming
companionship was the sole redeeming feature of the whole affair, and
he turned in his impulsive fashion to say so just as they reached the
verandah steps.

But the words did not leave his lips, for the red glow flung from the
lamp had found Monck's upturned face, and something--something about
it--checked all speech for the moment. He was looking straight up at the
lighted window and the face of a beautiful woman who gazed forth into
the night. And his eyes were no longer cold and unresponsive, but
burning, ardent, intensely alive. Tommy forgot what he was going to say
and only stared.

The moment passed; it was scarcely so much as a moment. And Monck moved