oisted himself higher on
the sofa and looked at her. A smile came on his face; they heard him
whisper, "My darling!" Again it struck them both as a little strange
that he should call her that. But she smiled in answer and made him
drink again.

"Yes, you've won; you always win," they heard her whisper softly. She
had forgotten all now, except that he had won, that her faith stood
justified, and he lay half-dead from the work of vindicating it. At that
moment she would have been no man's if she could not be Alexander
Quisante's.

There was a knock at the door; Jimmy Benyon went and opened it; he came
back holding a note, and gave it to May; it was addressed to her husband
in a pencil scrawl. "A congratulation for you," she said to Quisante. He
glanced carelessly and languidly at it, murmuring, "Read it to me,
please," and she broke open the sealed envelope. Inside the writing was
as negligent a scribble as on the outside, the writing of a man in bed,
with a stump of pencil. Old Mr. Foster wrote better when he was up and
abroad, so much better that Quisante's tired eyes had not marked the
hand for his. "Read it out to me," said Quisante, his eyes now dwelling
gratefully on his wife's face, his brain at last resting from the long
strain of weeks of effort.

"Yes, I'll read it," she said cheerfully, almost merrily. "We shall be
full of congratulations for days now, shan't we?"

She smoothed out the sheet of paper; there were but two or three lines
of writing, and she read them aloud. She read aloud the simple
indiscreet little hymn of triumph which victory and the safety of a
private note lured from old Mr. Foster's usually diplomatic lips:--

"Just done it, thank God. Shouldn't have without Tom Sinnett, and we've
got you to thank for that idea too."

She read it all before she seemed to put any meaning into it. A silence
followed her reading. She knelt there by him, holding the sheet of
note-paper in her hands. Fanny and Jimmy stood without moving, their
eyes on her and Quisante. Slowly May rose to her feet. Quisante closed
his eyes and moved restlessly on the sofa; he sighed and put his hand up
to his head. The slightest of smiles came on May's lips as she stood
looking at him for a minute; then she turned to Fanny, saying, "I think
he'd better have a little more brandy-and-water." She walked across to
the mantelpiece, the crumpled sheet of paper in her hand. She looked at
Fanny with the little smile still on her l