t so much trouble in its train. It needed that reminder
that Harry had only left Stella Croyle at Stockholm to bring home the
whole part which Harry had taken in the affair. Now she understood; a
flame of sudden jealousy confused her; and with it came a young girl's
distaste as though some ugly reptile had raised its head amongst
flowers.

"I never saw Harry again until this week, except for a minute outside a
shop one morning in Piccadilly. But he hasn't married during those four
years, so I always kept a hope that we should be somewhere together
again for a few days, and that afterwards he would come back to me."

"That's why you chose this week to come to Rackham Park?"

"Yes," answered Stella Croyle; and she laughed harshly. "But I hadn't
considered you."

Joan looked helplessly at her companion. Stella had not one small chance
of the fulfilment of her hope--no, not one--even if she herself stood a
million miles away. Of that Joan was sure. But how was she to say so to
one who was blind and deaf to all but her hope, who would not listen,
who would not see? Mario Escobar had left his gloves behind him on a
couch. Joan saw them, and remembered to whom they belonged, and her
thoughts took another complexion. Harry Luttrell! What share had she now
in his life? She rose abruptly and pushed back her chair.

"Oh, I'll stand aside," she said, "never fear! We are to talk things
over to-night. I shall say 'No.'"

She had turned again to the window, but a startled question from Stella
Croyle stayed her feet.

"Harry has asked you to marry him?"

"He was going to," Joan faltered. The sense of her own loss returned
upon her, she felt utterly alone, all the more alone because of the
wondrous week which had come to so desolate an end to-night. "Here in
this little room, not two hours ago. But I asked him to wait until
supper time to-night. Here--it was here we stood!"

Joan looked down. Yes, she had been standing in this very spot, the
table here upon her left, that chair upon her right, that trifolium in
the pattern of the carpet under her feet, when Harry Luttrell had taken
her in his arms. What foolish thing was Stella Croyle saying now?

"I take back all that I have said to you. If Harry has spoken to you
already I have lost--that's all. I didn't know," she said. Her cheeks
were white, her eyes suddenly grown large with a horror in them which
Joan could not understand.

"Yes, it's all over. I have lost," she kept