t I live in Paris!" thought Miss Van Tuyn, as she pushed Lady
Sellingworth's bell.

Her ladyship was at home, and Miss Van Tuyn mounted the stairs full of
expectation.

When she came into the big drawing-room she noticed at once how dimly
lit it was. Besides the firelight there was only one electric lamp
turned on, and that was protected by a rather large shade, and stood on
a table at some distance from Lady Sellingworth's sofa. A tall figure
got up from this sofa as Miss Van Tuyn made her way towards the fire,
and the well-remembered and very individual husky voice said:

"Dear Beryl! It's good of you to come to see me so soon. I only arrived
on Saturday."

"Dearest! How dark it is! I can scarcely see you."

"I love to give the firelight a chance. Didn't you know that? Come and
sit down and tell me what you have been doing. You have quite given up
Paris?"

"Yes, for the time. I've become engrossed in painting. Dick Garstin has
given me the run of his studio. But where have you been?"

As she put the question Miss Van Tuyn looked closely at her friend, and,
in spite of the dimness, she noticed a difference in her appearance.
The white hair still crowned the beautifully shaped head, but it looked
thicker, more alive than formerly. The change which struck her most,
however, was in the appearance of the face. It seemed, she thought,
markedly younger and fresher, smoother than she remembered it, firmer
in texture. Surely some, many even, of the wrinkles had disappeared. And
the lips, once so pale and weary, were rosy now--if the light was not
deceiving her. The invariable black dress, too, had vanished. Adela wore
a lovely gown of a deep violet colour and had a violet band in her
hair. She sat very upright. Her tall figure seemed almost braced up.
And surely she looked less absolutely natural than usual. There
was something--a slight hardness, perhaps, a touch of conscious
imperviousness in look and manner, a watchful something--which made Miss
Van Tuyn for a moment think of a photograph she had seen on a member of
the "old guard's" table.

The sheaves! The sheaves!

But the girl longed for more light. She knew she was not deceived
entirely by the dimness, but she longed for crude revelation. Already
her mind was busily at work on the future. She felt, although she
had only been in the room for two or three minutes, that the Lady
Sellingworth who had just come back to London must presently be her
enemy. And she