satisfaction at all. There was the red hair that
looked so very red. There were the eyes, which, at times, she was
convinced were really green. There was the stupid nose that always
seemed to her to occupy too much of her face. And as for her cheeks, the
wind and sea had left them looking more healthy, but--She sighed and
hurriedly turned away. She felt that mirrors were an invention
calculated to upset the conceit of any girl.

She moved quickly round the little room. Her gloves, her wrap. She
picked them up. The gloves she was painfully aware had already been
cleaned twice, and her cloak had no greater merits than the
modest-priced frock which had strained her limited bank roll. Then she
consulted the clock on her bureau, and, picked up her scent-spray. This
was the last, the final touch she could not resist.

In the midst of using it she set it down with a feeling of sudden panic.

She had remembered. She stood staring down at the dressing table with a
light of trouble in her eyes. The whole incident had been forgotten till
that moment. She remembered she had refused to dine with Elas Peterman
that night on a plea of weariness, and without a thought had
unhesitatingly accepted the invitation of the man whom the Skandinavia
had marked down for its victim.

For some seconds the enormity of the thing she had done overwhelmed her.
Then a belated humour came to her rescue and a shadowy smile drove the
trouble from her eyes.

Suppose--but no. Her chief would be dining at home, as was his habit.
Then, anyway, there could be no harm. She was concerned in this thing.
She had a right. She even told herself it was imperative she should know
what had transpired at the interview she had brought about. Besides, was
there not the possibility of certain rougnnesses occurring between the
two men which it might be within her power to smooth down? That was
surely so. She had no right to miss any opportunity of furthering the
ends of her own people.

Then she laughed outright. Oh, it was excuse. She knew. She was looking
forward to the evening. Of course she was. Then, just as suddenly all
desire to laugh expired. Why? Why was she looking forward to dining with
Bull Sternford?

Bull! What a quaint name. She had thought of it before. She had thought
of it at the time when the lonely missionary of the forest had told her
of him.

Swiftly her thought passed on to her meeting with the man himself. She
remembered her nervousness w