"There's some one in the garden."

"Perhaps it's Barry."

"Didn't he come with you?"

"No. He went on with Leila and the General."

"But it is two o'clock, Aunt Isabelle."

"I didn't know; I thought perhaps he had come."

Going back into her room, Mary threw on her blue dressing-gown and
slippers and opened her door. The light was still burning in the hall.
Barry always turned it out when he came. She stood undecided, then
started down the back stairs, but halted as the door opened and a dark
figure appeared.

"Barry----"

Roger Poole looked up at her. "It isn't your brother," he said. "I--I
must beg your pardon for disturbing you. I could not sleep, and I went
out----" He stopped and stammered. Poised there above him with all
the wonder of her unbound hair about her, she was like some celestial
vision.

She smiled at him. "It doesn't matter," she said; "please don't
apologize. It was foolish of me to be--frightened. But I had
forgotten that there was any one else in the house."