The odd light was flickering again in the cracks-man's glance. She was then
more beautiful than aught that ever he had dreamed of. Such hair as
was hers, woven seemingly of dull flames, lambent, witching! And
eyes!--beautiful always, but never more so than at this moment, when
filled with sweetly pensive contemplation.... Was she reviewing the last
twenty-four hours, dreaming of what had passed between her and that silly
fool, Maitland? If only Anisty could surmise what they had said to each
other, how long they had been acquainted; if only she would give him a
hint, a leading word!...

If he could have read her mind, have seen behind the film of thought that
clouded her eyes, one fears Mr. Anisty might have lost appetite for an
excellent luncheon. For she was studying his hands, her memory harking
back to the moment when she had stood beside the safe, holding the
bull's-eye....

In the blackness of that hour a disk of light shone out luridly against the
tapestry of memory. Within its radius appeared two hands, long, supple,
strong, immaculately white, graceful and dexterous, as delicate of contour
as a woman's, yet lacking nothing of masculine vigor and modeling; hands
that wavered against the blackness, fumbling with the shining nickeled
disk of a combination-lock.... The impression had been and remained one
extraordinarily vivid. Could her eyes have deceived her so?...

"Thoughtful?"

She nodded alertly, instantaneously mistress of self; and let her gaze,
serious yet half smiling, linger upon his the exact fractional shade of an
instant longer than had been, perhaps, discreet. Then lashes drooped long