the head-waiter. It was one of a couple drawn up at a small table for
two. Sitting thus, Annesley could see everybody who came in, and--what
was more important--could be seen. By what struck her as an odd
coincidence, the table was decorated with a vase of white roses whose
hearts blushed faintly in the light of a pink-shaded electric lamp.

A quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, dragged along, and no Mr. Smith.
Annesley could follow the passing moments on her wrist-watch in its
silver bracelet, the only present Mrs. Ellsworth had ever given her,
with the exception of cast-off clothes, and a pocket handkerchief each
Christmas.

Every nerve in the girl's body seemed to prickle with embarrassment. She
played with a dinner roll, changed the places of the flowers and the
lamp, trying to appear at ease, and not daring to look up lest she should
meet eyes curious or pitying.

"What if they make me pay for dinner after I've kept the table so long?"
she thought in her ignorance of hotel customs. "And I've got only a
shilling!"

Half an hour now, all but two minutes! There was nothing more to hope or
fear. But there was the ordeal of getting away.

"I'll sit out the two minutes," she told herself. "Then I'll go. Ought I
to tip the waiter?" Horrible doubt! And she must have been dreaming to
touch that roll! Better sneak away while the waiter was busy at a
distance.

Frightened, miserable, she was counting her chances when a man, whose