k thinking of Sylvia, yearning for Sylvia. He had
come to New York with one desire: to find Sylvia. And the first
pretty woman that had come across his path had sent Sylvia clean out of
his head. There could be no question of that. When Ann Kavanagh
stretched out her hand to him in that very room a fortnight ago he had
stood before her dazzled, captured. From that moment Sylvia had been
tossed aside and forgotten. Ann Kavanagh could have done what she
liked with him. She had quarrelled with him that evening of the
concert. She had meant to quarrel with him.

And then for the first time he had remembered Sylvia. That was her
reward--Sylvia's: it was Sylvia she was thinking of--for six years'
devoted friendship; for the help, the inspiration she had given him.

As Sylvia, she suffered from a very genuine and explainable wave of
indignant jealousy. As Ann, she admitted he ought not to have done it,
but felt there was excuse for him. Between the two she feared her mind
would eventually give way. On the morning of the second day she sent
Matthew a note asking him to call in the afternoon. Sylvia might be
there, or she might not. She would mention it to her.

She dressed herself in a quiet, dark-coloured frock. It seemed
uncommittal and suitable to the occasion. It also happened to be the
colour that best suited her. She would not have the lamps lighted.

Matthew arrived in a dark serge suit and a blue necktie, so that the
general effect was quiet. Ann greeted him with kindliness and put him
with his face to what little light there was. She chose for herself
the window-seat. Sylvia had not arrived. She might be a little
late--that is, if she came at all.

They talked about the weather for a while. Matthew was of opinion they
were going to have some rain. Ann, who was in one of her contradictory
moods, thought there was frost in the air.

"What did you say to her?" he asked.

"Sylvia? Oh, what you told me," replied Ann. "That you had come to
New York to--to look for her."

"What did she say?" he asked.

"Said you'd taken your time about it," retorted Ann.

Matthew looked up with an injured expression.

"It was her own idea that we should never meet," he explained.

"Um!" Ann grunted.

"What do you think yourself she will be like?" she continued. "Have
you formed any notion?"

"It is curious," he replied. "I have never been able to conjure up any
picture of her until just now."

"W