"I have done nothing, except to write and say that I needed the
money,--which you promised to return weeks ago, or I couldn't possibly
have spared it," protested a voice which Hugh had heard in dreams three
nights out of every six, in as many years.

"Well, if you write any more letters, we shall burn them unread, so it
is no use to trouble us; and we will pay when we choose."

With the last words, the other voice died into distance. Mademoiselle
had said what she came to say, and was retreating with dignity down the
corridor.

Now the figure of a slender woman was silhouetted in the doorway. Hugh
heard a sigh, and saw a hand that glimmered white in the dusk against
the dark paper on the wall, as it groped for the button of the electric
light. Then, suddenly the room was filled with a white radiance, and
she stood in the midst of it, young and beautiful, the woman he had
loved for seven years.

Putting Rosemary away he sprang up, and her eyes, dazzled at first by
the sudden flood of light, opened wide in startled recognition.
"Hugh--Hugh Egerton!" she stammered, whispering as one whispers in a
dream.

She was pale as a lily, but the whiteness of her face was like light,
shining from within; and there was a light in her great eyes, too, such
as had never shone for Hugh on sea or land. Once, a long time ago, he
had hoped that she cared, or would come to care. But she had chosen
another man, and Hugh had gone away; that had been the end. Yet
now--what stars her eyes were! One might almost think that she had not