ter of snow-spray in
sunlight.

She saw Loring glance at her, then look away. Belinda, her chin a little
down, gazed steadily. Sophy came still nearer. She had been so pale and
listless of late that the delicate, soft fire of her cheeks, and the
dark, bright fire of her eyes was doubly striking. The little tongues of
flame that lit her hair dazzled with iridescence. Her gown, the jewels
in her hair, the light in her dark eyes--all were quivering, glinting.
But she herself was very still. This intense, composed stillness of hers
seemed to make the others restless. They fidgeted--Belinda with the blue
flowers, Loring with another cigarette.

Suddenly Belinda said spasmodically:

"You _are_ gorgeous to-night, ain't you?"

"You like my gown?" asked Sophy, smiling.

"Ripping," said Belinda.

"I rather like it myself," said Sophy. "I hope you like it, too,
Morris?"

"Awfully smart ... you look awfully well...." he murmured.

Belinda left off fingering the flowers.

"I really ought to be going," she said.

"Yes. It's about time for you to go now," assented Sophy.

Her tone was quite even, yet at something in it those two winced.

Sophy had a cruel moment.

"Do you know," she said, "you and Morris both seem rather overstrung to
me. What's the matter? You haven't been quarrelling again already, have
you?"

Neither answered. Sophy repeated it. "Have you?" she said again.

"No," said Loring.

Belinda had taken up her wrap from a chair and was going towards the
door.

"I think the carriage _must_ be there...." she said in a high,
artificially anxious voice as she went. She almost ran into the arms of
Simms, who had come to announce the brougham.

Sophy stood smiling and looking after her. Then, still smiling, she
turned to Loring. It was a peculiar smile.

"Will _you_ tell me what has happened, Morris?" she said, and he thought
her tone also very peculiar.

"'Happened'?... Why, nothing," he stammered.

He was appalled to hear himself stammering. He wondered with panic what
his expression was like. It was in fact so puerile in its look of
nervous guilt that Sophy was wrung with sudden shame for them both--for
the man who looked at her with that weak, apprehensive smirk that sat so
oddly on his pale face--for herself who had stooped to bring it there.
She turned away, saying: "We'd better be going, too, I think."

There was a biting acid of pain at work on her heart now. To have seen
that look on his fac