r me at six o'clock," she replied.

"Six o'clock!" he exclaimed; but accepted with resignation and closed
the carriage door. Enigmatical sex!

Enigmatical sex indeed! Honora spent a feverish afternoon, rest and
reflection being things she feared. An afternoon in familiar places; and
(strangest of all facts to be recorded!) memories and regrets troubled
her not at all. Her old dressmakers, her old milliners, welcomed her
as one risen, radiant, from the grave; risen, in their estimation, to
a higher life. Honora knew this, and was indifferent to the wealth of
meaning that lay behind their discretion. Milliners and dressmakers read
the newspapers and periodicals--certain periodicals. Well they knew that
the lady they flattered was the future Mrs. Hugh Chiltern.

Nothing whatever of an indelicate nature happened. There was no mention
of where to send the bill, or of whom to send it to. Such things as
she bought on the spot were placed in her carriage. And happiest of
all omissions, she met no one she knew. The praise that Madame Barriere
lavished on Honora's figure was not flattery, because the Paris models
fitted her to perfection. A little after five she returned to her hotel,
to a Mathilde in a high state of suppressed excitement. And at six,
the appointed fateful hour, arrayed in a new street gown of dark green
cloth, she stood awaiting him.

He was no laggard. The bell on the church near by was still singing from
the last stroke when he knocked, flung open the door, and stood for a
moment staring at her. Not that she had been shabby when he had wished
to marry her at noon: no self-respecting woman is ever shabby; not that
her present costume had any of the elements of overdress; far from it.
Being a woman, she had her thrill of triumph at his exclamation. Diana
had no need, perhaps, of a French dressmaker, but it is an open question
whether she would have scorned them. Honora stood motionless, but her
smile for him was like the first quivering shaft of day. He opened
a box, and with a strange mixture of impetuosity and reverence came
forward. And she saw that he held in his hand a string of great,
glistening pearls.

"They were my mother's," he said. "I have had them restrung--for you."

"Oh, Hugh!" she cried. She could find no words to express the tremor
within. And she stood passively, her eyes half closed, while he clasped
the string around the lace collar that pressed the slender column of her
neck and kissed