what was, after all, only a foolish and ill-considered statement. She is
pleased to feel herself deeply insulted, and she hates me for what I did
in perfect innocence. I have done all that I can do. I have offered to
make amends in the only way I can think of, and she refuses to accept
either that or my apologies. Very well, then... But what a lovely face
it is, and for just that moment, when the hardness and bitterness were
gone..." He paused; his own face softened. One could not be angry for
long with a vision like that, which was passing before his mind,
conjured up by memory.

Just for that instant, when the flush had come into her cheeks, she had
looked all those things that she was not--sweet, womanly, tender, and
gentle, a woman with an immense capacity for love.

"Bah!" said Hugh. "I'm an idiot. I shall go to a theatre to-night,
forget all about her, and go home to-morrow--home." He sighed a little
drearily. For months past he had pictured pretty Marjorie Linden as
queen of that home, and now he knew that it would never be. His house
would remain lonely and empty, as must his life be.

He sighed sentimentally, and took out Marjorie's little pink note from
his pocket-book. He noticed for the first time that it was somewhat
over-scented. He realised that he did not like the smell of scent,
especially on notepaper, and pink was not his favourite colour. In fact,
he disliked pink. Marjorie was happy, Lady Linden was beaming on Tom
Arundel, the cloud had lifted from Marjorie's life. Hugh tore up the
pink, smelly little missive, and dropped the fragments into the grate of
the hotel bedroom.

"That's that!" he said. "And it's ended and done with!"