t spoken to her and he
knew he would never leave her until at least he was sure she would not
take her life before the next morning.

The girl extended her hand, her beautiful face was gray. "Will you
not," she asked, "come up with me to my drawing-room? I am quite
alone."

Bulstrode bowed and without hesitation followed her up the stairs to
the conventional suite of hotel rooms, where, in the little salon,
trunks stood about in the evident indications of hasty packing.

The girl threw her gloves, her handkerchief and her soft silken cloak
on the table. She then seated herself in a corner of the sofa by an
open dressing-bag and Bulstrode, at her invitation, took a chair
opposite. He scarcely knew how to begin his conversation with her, but
he determined at once to go toward what he believed to be the most
crying need.

"You lost to-night," he said. "I saw it. As it happened, I was lucky.
I have no need of money, none." He had drawn from his pocket piles of
louis; he took out from his wallet a roll of notes.

He saw, too, as well as the look of passion and admiration, that her
face was familiar, at least that there was about it something that
suggested remembrance.

"This," she said, "is a fortune!" Her accent was British and her voice
very soft and sweet. "It is quite a large fortune, isn't it? My debts
here are small. I have not fifty pounds in the world," she said
smiling, "I work for my living, too. I have been extravagant, for I
had really made a lot of money, but lately I've thrown everything away.
Yesterday my pearls were sold, and my jewels went last week; the races
and the Casino did the rest! This would make me quite rich."

"Work for her living!" Bulstrode thought, with a pang as he looked at
her. "Heavens, poor dear!" A thousand questions came to his lips, but
he asked her none. He was mastering the feelings her personality, her
trouble, and the night, aroused. He also decided to go at once, while
there was still time.

"It is very droll that this money should have come from _you;_" she
repeated "from you," with the insistence on the pronoun that he had
before remarked as strange. "Even now you don't know me, do you?
Don't you know who I am?"

"No," Bulstrode wondered, "and yet I have certainly seen you before,
but save as I have noticed and admired you here, I don't _think_ I know
you. Should I?"

"You _have_ seen me then here?" she caught delighted, "you have
actually notice