"Miss Beverley is just back from the hospital, sir," the former
announced. "If you will come this way, I will see that your card is
sent to her at once."

The caller--Mr. Jocelyn Thew was the name upon the card--followed the
servant across the white stone circular hall, with its banked-up
profusion of hothouse flowers and its air of elegant emptiness, into a
somewhat austere but very dignified apartment, the walls of which were
lined to the ceiling with books.

"I will let Miss Beverley have your card at once, sir," the man
promised him again, "if you will be so kind as to take a seat for a
few moments."

The visitor, left to himself, stood upon the hearthrug with his hands
behind his back, waiting for news of the young lady whom he had come
to visit. At first sight he certainly was a most prepossessing-looking
person. His face, if a little hard, was distinguished by a strength
which for the size of his features was somewhat surprising. His chin
was like a piece of iron, and although his mouth had more sensitive
and softer lines, his dark-blue eyes and jet-black eyebrows completed
a general impression of vigour and forcefulness. His figure was a
little thin but lithe, and his movements showed all the suppleness of
a man who has continued the pursuit of athletics into early
middle-life. His hair, only slightly streaked with grey, was thick and
plentiful. His clothes were carefully chosen and well tailored. He had
the air of a man used to mixing with the best people, to eating and
drinking the best, to living in the best fashion, recognising nothing
less as his due in life. Yet as he stood there waiting for his
visitor, listening intently for the sound of her footsteps outside, he