ion of the wrong he had all unwittingly wrought
her.

But his heart sank at the idea of facing Iris once more, and the thought
of her as she would surely be, the centre and queen of all the evening's
gaiety, was almost unendurable.

At times he told himself that he could not go to Greengates that night.
He was only human, and the sight of her, dressed, as she would surely
be, in some shimmering airy thing which would enhance all her beauty,
would break down his steadfast resolve. He could not be with her in the
warm summer night, hold her in his arms in the dance, while the music of
the violins throbbed in his ears, the perfume of a thousand roses
intoxicated all his senses, and not cry out his love, implore her to be
kind as she was fair, to readmit him to her friendship, and grant him,
presently, the privileges of a lover....

And then, in the next moment he told himself he could not bear to miss
the meeting with her. He must go, must see her once more, see the wide
grey eyes beneath their crown of sunny hair, hear her sweet, kind voice,
touch her hand....

And then yet another thought beset him. What guarantee had he that Iris
Wayne would welcome him to her birthday feast? He had thrown her
kindness back into her face, had first accepted and then carelessly
repudiated her friendship; and it was only too probable she had written
him down as a casual and discourteous trifler with whom, in future, she
desired to hold no intercourse.

The sunshiny day which the rest of the world found so beautiful was one
long torment to Anstice. Restless, undecided, unhappy, he went about his
work with set lips and a haggard face, and those of his patients who had
lately found him improved to a new and attractive sociability revised
their later impressions of him in favour of their first and less
pleasing ones.

At five o'clock, acting on sudden impulse, he rang up Greengates and
asked for Miss Wayne.

After a short delay she came, and as he heard her soft voice over the
wire Anstice's face grew grim with controlled emotion.

"Is that you, Dr. Anstice?"

"Yes, Miss Wayne. I wanted to say--but first, may I wish you--many happy
returns of your birthday?"

"Thanks very much." Straining his ears to catch every inflection in her
voice, Anstice thought he detected a note of coldness. "By the way, were
those beautiful sweet-peas from you--the ones that came at twelve
o'clock to-day?"

"I sent them, yes." So much, at least, he ha