her eyes still questioned him. Fitzgerald carefully laid his hat
on a vacant chair.

"Something has happened?" she said. "Tell me that all that madness
is over - that you are yourself again!"

"So far as regards my engagement with Messrs. Howell & Wilson," he
said, despondently, "you are right. As regards - Miss Barnes, there
has been no direct misunderstanding between us, but I am afraid, for
the present, that I must consider that - well, in abeyance."

"That is something!" she exclaimed, drawing a little breath of relief.
"Sit down, Peter. Will you have something to eat? I finished dinner
an hour ago, but - "

"Thank you," Fitzgerald interrupted, "I supped - extremely well in
Streatham!"

"In Streatham!" she repeated. "Why, how did you get there? The fog
is awful."

"Fogs do not trouble me," Fitzgerald answered. "I walked. I could
have done it as well blindfold. I will take a whisky and soda, if
I may."

She led him to an easy-chair.

"I will mix it myself," she said.

Without being remarkably good-looking, she was certainly a pleasant