didn't tell me why you named her that."

"After Angel, of course," returned the child absent-mindedly. "But when
you've vanished, I--"

"Is your mother's name Evie?"

"Evelyn. But that's too long for a doll."

"Evelyn--what? You--you haven't told me your name yet."

"Rosemary Evelyn Clifford."

"Great Heavens!"

"How strange your voice sounds," said Rosemary. "Are you ill?"

"No--no! I--feel a little odd, that's all."

"Oh, it isn't the vanishing coming on already? We're a long way from our
hotel yet."

Hugh drove mechanically, though sky and sea and mountains seemed to be
seething together, as if in the convulsions of an earthquake.

Her child! And her husband--what of him? The little one said he was
lost; that he had not been kind. Hugh gritted his teeth together, and
heard only the singing of his blood in his ears. Was the man dead, or
had he but disappeared? In any case, _she_ was here, alone in Monte
Carlo, with her child; poor, unhappy, working by day, crying by night.