The butler entered to announce dinner.

Waythorn turned to his wife. "Come--you must be tired. It's beastly,
but try to forget about it," he said, drawing her hand through his
arm.

"You're so good, dear. I'll try," she whispered back.

Her face cleared at once, and as she looked at him across the
flowers, between the rosy candle-shades, he saw her lips waver back
into a smile.

"How pretty everything is!" she sighed luxuriously.

He turned to the butler. "The champagne at once, please. Mrs.
Waythorn is tired."

In a moment or two their eyes met above the sparkling glasses. Her
own were quite clear and untroubled: he saw that she had obeyed his
injunction and forgotten.

Waythorn moved away with a gesture of refusal






II