not count in this affair. She
alone must be considered. If he had frightened her, he must find some
way of reassuring her. He must take a tighter grip than ever upon
himself, face her to-morrow, and laugh away her fears. He must do
that, because he must justify her faith in him. That was all he had of
her--her faith in him. If he killed that, then she would vanish
utterly.

After this last week, to be here or anywhere else without her was
unthinkable. He must make her believe that he took even this new
development lightly. He must go to her in the morning as just Monte.
So, if he were very, very careful, he might coax her back a little way
into his life. That was not very much to hope for.

Monte was all wrong. From beginning to end, he was wrong. Marjory had
run away, not from him, but from some one else. When she left the
hotel she had been on her way to join monsieur, as Henri had correctly
surmised. From her window she had been watching him for the matter of
half an hour as he paced up and down the quay before the hotel. Every
time Monte disappeared from sight at the end of a lap, she held her
breath until he appeared again. Every time he appeared again, her
heart beat faster. He seemed such a lonely figure that her conscience
troubled her. He was so good, was Monte--so good and four-square.

She had left him to dine alone, and without a protest he had submitted.
That was like him; and yet, if he had only as much as looked his
disappointment, she would have dressed and come down. She had been
ready to do so. It was only the initial excitement that prompted her
at first to shut herself up. Coming to this hotel, where for ten years
he had been coming alone, was almost like going back into his life for
that length of time. Then, Monte had signed the register "Monsieur and
Madame Covington." With bated breath she had watched him do it.

After that the roses in her room and the attention of every one to her
as to a bride--all those things had frightened her at first. Yet she
knew they were bowing low, not to her, but to Madame Covington. This
was what made her ears burn. This was what made her seek the seclusion
of her room. She felt like an imposter, claiming honors that did not
belong to her. It made her so uncomfortable that she could not face
even Marie. She sent her off.

Sitting by the open window, she watched Monte as he walked alone, with
a queer little ache in her heart. How