studied the men at the next table,--or rather one of them, who loudly
ordered the waiters about, who told brief anecdotes that were
uproariously applauded; whose pudgy, bejewelled fingers were continually
feeling for the bottle in the ice beside his chair, or nudging his
companions with easy familiarity; whose little eyes, set in a heavy face,
lighted now and again with a certain expression . . . . .

Suddenly Hodder pushed back his chair and got to his feet, overcome by a
choking sensation like that of being, asphyxiated by foul gases. He must
get out at once, or faint. What he had seen in the man's eyes had
aroused in him sheer terror, for it was the image of something in his
own soul which had summarily gained supremacy and led him hither,
unresisting, to its own abiding-place. In vain he groped to reconstruct
the process by which that other spirit--which he would fain have believed
his true spirit--had been drugged and deadened in its very flight.

He was aware, as he still stood uncertainly beside the table, of the
white-aproned waiter looking at him, and of some one else!--the woman
whose eyes had been fastened on him so persistently. She was close
beside him, speaking to him.

"Seems to me we've met before."

He looked at her, at first uncomprehendingly, then with a dawning
realization of her identity. Even her name came to him, unexpectedly,
--Kate Marcy,--the woman in the flat!

"Ain't you going to invite me to have some supper?" she whispered
eagerly, furtively, as one accustomed to be rebuffed, yet bold in spite
of it. "They'll throw me out if they think I'm accosting you."