ears of Roger Poole, who appeared at the top of the stairway.

There was a moment's startled silence, then Mary spoke.

"Barry, it is Mr. Poole. You don't know each other, do you?"

The two men, one going up the stairway, the other coming down, met and
shook hands. Then Barry muttered something about having to run away
and dress, and Roger and Mary were left alone.

It was the first time that they had seen each other, since the night of
the wedding. They had arranged everything by telephone, and on the
second short visit that Roger had made to his rooms, Susan Jenks had
looked after him.

It seemed to Roger now that, like the house, Mary had taken on a new
and less radiant aspect. She looked pale and tired. Her dress of
white with its narrow edge of dark fur made her taller and older. Her
fair waved hair was parted at the side and dressed compactly without
ornament or ribbon. He was again, however, impressed by the almost
frank boyishness of her manner as she said:

"I want you to meet Aunt Isabella. She can't hear very well, so you'll
have to raise your voice."

As they went in together, Mary was forced to readjust certain opinions
which she had formed of her lodger. The other night he had been
divorced from the dapper youths of her own set by his lack of
up-to-dateness, his melancholy, his air of mystery.