was shut, and no "Gerontius" was visible.

Meyer Isaacson stood for a moment looking round, feeling the atmosphere
of this room, or at least trying to feel it. In the summer had it not
seemed a little lonely, a little dreary, a chamber to escape from,
despite its comfort and pretty colours? Now it was bright, cosy, even
hopeful. Yes, he breathed a hopeful atmosphere.

A door clicked. Mrs. Chepstow came in.

She wore a rose-coloured dress, cut very high at the throat, with tight
sleeves that came partly over her hands, emphasizing their attractive
delicacy. The dress was very plainly made and seemed moulded to her
beautiful figure. She had no hat on, but Isaacson had never before been
so much struck by her height. As she came in, she looked immensely tall.
And there was some marked change in her appearance. For an instant he
did not know what it was. Then he saw that she had given to her cheeks
an ethereal flush of red. This altered her extraordinarily. It made her
look younger, more brilliant, but also much less refined. She smiled
gaily as she took his hand. She enveloped him at once with a definite
cheerfulness which came to him as a shock. As she held his hand, she
touched the bell. Then she drew him down on the sofa, with a sort of
coaxing cordiality.

"This shall be better than Bank Holiday," she said. "I know you pitied
me then. You wondered how I could bear it. Now I've shut out the river.
I'm glad you never came again till I could have the lights and the fire.
I love the English winters, don't you, because one has to do such
delicious things to keep all thought of them out. Now, in the hot places
abroad, that people are always raving about, all the year round one can