night and which mock me. He had no country then save the paradise where
lovers walk, no ruler but a queen, and I was she. And now--"

Dominey felt a strange pang of distress. She saw the unusual softening
in his face, and her eyes lit up.

"Just for a moment," she broke off, "you were like Leopold. As a rule,
you know, you are not like him. I think that you left him somewhere in
Africa and came home in his likeness."

"Believe that for a little time," Dominey begged earnestly.

"What if it were true?" she asked abruptly. "There are times when I
do not recognise you. There are words Leopold used to use which I have
never heard from your lips. Is not West Africa the sorcerer's paradise?
Perhaps you are an imposter, and the man I love is there still, in
trouble--perhaps ill. You play the part of Everard Dominey like a very
king of actors. Perhaps before you came here you played the part of
Leopold. You are not my Leopold. Love cannot die as you would have me
believe."

"Now," he said coolly, "you are coming round to my way of thinking.
I have been assuring you, from the very first moment we met at the
Carlton, that I was not your Leopold--that I was Everard Dominey."

"I shall put you to the test," she exclaimed suddenly, rising to her
feet. "Your arm, if you please."

She led him across the hall to where little groups of people were
gossiping, playing bridge, and Seaman, the center of a little group of