bending slightly forward, as one who strains for a last glimpse of
something that has passed from sight.

Monck remained motionless, watching her. From another room near by there
came the sound of Tommy's humming and the cheery pop of a withdrawn
cork.

Stella spoke at last, in a whisper, and as she spoke the strain went out
of her attitude and she drooped against the wood-work of the window as
if spent. "Yes; but I know--too late."

The words reached him though he scarcely felt that they were intended to
do so. He suffered them to go into silence; the time for speech was
past.

The seconds throbbed away between them. Stella did not move or speak
again, and at last Monck turned from her. He picked up the broken fan,
and with a curious reverence he laid it out of sight among some books on
the table.

Then he stood immovable as granite and waited.

There came the sound of Tommy's footsteps, and in a moment the door was
flung open. Tommy advanced with all a host's solicitude.

"Oh, I say, I'm awfully sorry to have kept you waiting so long. That
silly ass of a _khit_ had cleared off and left us nothing to drink.
Stella, we shall miss all the fun if we don't hurry up. Come on, Monck,
old chap, say when!"