"You'll break everyone's heart before you've finished," she said. Adding
in a lighter tone: "I'm going out now. If Maryon Rooke comes, don't
begin by breaking his for him."

The door closed behind her and Nan, left alone, strolled restlessly over
to the window and stood looking out.

"Break his!" she whispered under her breath. "Dear old Penny! She
doesn't know the probabilities in this particular game of chance."

The slanting afternoon sunlight revealed once more that sudden touch of
gravity--almost of fear--in her face. It was rather a charming face,
delicately angled, with cheeks that hollowed slightly beneath the
cheek-bones and a chin which would have been pointed had not old Dame
Nature changed her mind at the last moment and elected to put a provoking
little cleft there. Nor could even the merciless light of a wintry sun
find a flaw in her skin. It was one of those rare, creamy skins, with a
golden undertone and the feature of a flower petal, sometimes found in
conjunction with dark hair. The faint colour in her cheeks was of that
same warm rose which the sun kisses into glowing life on the velvet skin
of an apricot.

The colour deepened suddenly in her face as the sound of an electric bell
trilled through the flat. Dropping her arms to her sides, she stood
motionless, like a bird poised for flight. Then, with a little impatient
shrug of her shoulders, she made her way slowly, almost unwillingly,
across the hall and threw open the door.

"You, Maryon?" she said a trifle breathlessly. Then, as he entered:
"I--I hardly expected you."