injured her reputation in the least. She came back to the stage
renewed and invigorated, and with still more of that depth of feeling
and atmosphere of soul wich had so enriched her personations before.

She became, very speedily, without any question, one of the leading
actressess of the day; and the veil of mystery that hung over the
sudden termination of her short married life, if anything, enhanced her
charm to a mystery-loving public. And all the time, as Dudley could
not but see, she never changed to Hal.

From adulation and adoration, from triumphs that might easily turn any
head she always came quickly back to the little Bloomsbury sitting-room
when she could, to have one of their old gay gossips and merry laughs.
She seemed in some way to find a rest there that she could not get
elsewhere, in the company of people who expected her to live up to a
recognised standard of individuality.

And the change in Lorraine was a change for the better in Hal too, who
began now to tone down a little, and at the same time to strenghten and
deepen in character.

They were, in fact, a pair it was good to see and good to know. In the
first few years after the break-up of her home Lorraine was at her
handsomest. Her dark, thick hair had a gloss on it that in some lights
showed like a bronze glow, and she wore it in thick coils round her
small head, free from any exaggerated fashion, and yet with a
distinction all its own. Her dark eyes once more showed the roguish
lights of her schooldays, and her alluring red mouth twitched
mischievously when she was in a gay mood.