"But sometimes God on His great white Throne
Looks down from the Heaven above,
And lays in the hands that are empty
The tremulous Star of Love."

As she spoke the last verse Nan's voice took on a tender, instinctive
note of consolation. Had she been looking she would have seen Peter
Mallory's hand clench itself as though to crush down some sudden, urgent
motion. But she was gazing straight in front of her into the softly lit
radiance of the car.

"Only sometimes there isn't any star, and your hands would be
'outstretched in vain,' as the song says," he commented.

"Oh, I hope not!" cried Nan. "Try to believe they wouldn't be!"

Mallory uttered a short laugh.

"I'm afraid it's no case for 'believing.' It's hard fact."


Nan remained silent. There was an undertone so bitter in his voice that
she felt as though her poor little efforts at consolation were utterly
trivial and futile to meet whatever tragedy lay behind the man's curt
speech. It seemed as though he read her thought, for he turned to her
quickly with that charming smile of his.

"You'd make a topping pal," he said. And Nan knew that in some
indefinable way she had comforted him.