memory of eyes just as ingenuous, and as unassuming that even in
claiming her love had expressed only their stolid unworthiness.

'Did you know it? have you seen it?' she said, stooping forward a
little. 'I believe in spite of all....' He gazed on solemnly,
almost owlishly, out of his fading mask.

'Wait till Mr Bethany tells you; you will believe it perhaps from
him.' He saw the grey-gloved hand a little reluctantly lifted
towards him.

'Good-bye, Sheila,' he said, and turned mechanically back to the
window.

She hesitated, listening to a small far-away voice that kept
urging her with an almost frog-like pertinacity to do, to say
something, and yet as stubbornly would not say what; and she was
gone.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Raying and gleaming in the sunlight the hired landau drove up to
the gate. Lawford, peeping between the blinds, looked down on the
coachman, with reins hanging loosely from his red squat-thumbed
hand, seated in his tight livery and indescribable hat on the
faded cushions. One thing only was in his mind; and it was almost
with an audible cry that he turned towards the figure that edged,
white and trembling, into the chill room, to fling herself into