in the shining armour of her
youth upon the steps of the stairs; she, when Harry had first entered
the hall and spoken his few commonplace words of greeting. This was the
hour for them, the hour at the well with the desert behind them and the
desert in front, the hour within the measure of which was to be forced
the essence of many days. When they returned to the hall they found most
of the small party gathered there before going up to dress for dinner;
and there was that in the faces of the pair which betrayed them.
Hillyard looked quickly round the hall, as a qualm of pity for Stella
Croyle seized him. But he could not see her. "Thank Heaven she has
already gone up to dress," he said to himself. A marriage between Joan
Whitworth and the Harry Luttrell of to-day, the man freed now from the
great obsession of his life and trained now to the traditional paths,
was a fitting thing, a thing to be welcomed. Hillyard readily
acknowledged it. But he had more insight into the troubled soul of
Stella Croyle than any one else in that company.

"No one's bothering about her," he reflected. "She came here to set up
her last fight to win back Harry. She is now putting on her armour for
it. And she hasn't a chance--no, not one!"

For Harry's sake he was glad. But he was a creator of plays; and his
training led him to seek to understand, and to understand with the
sympathy of his emotions, the points of view of others who might stand
in a contrast or a relation. He walked up the stairs with a heart full
of pity when Millicent Splay caught him up.

"What did I tell you?" she said, brimful with delight. "Just look at
Joan! Is there a girl anywhere who can match her?"

Martin looked down over the balustrade at Joan in the hall below.

"No," he said slowly. "Not one whom I have ever seen."

The little note of melancholy in his voice moved Millie Splay. She was
all kindness in that moment of her triumph. She turned to Martin
Hillyard in commiseration. "Oh, don't tell me that you are in love with
her too! I should be so sorry."

"No, I am not," Martin Hillyard hastened to reassure her, "not one bit."

The commiseration died on the instant in Millicent Splay.

"Well, really I don't see why you shouldn't be," she said coldly. "You
will go a long way before you find any one to equal her."

Her whole attitude demanded of him an explanation of how he dared not to
be in love with her darling.

"A very long way," Martin Hillyard agree