simple a question. She had been
here once with Aunt Kitty--they had stopped at the Hotel d'Angleterre.
Marjory mumbled that name now.

"Then I may come over to-night to see you for a moment, may I not?"
said Beatrice. "It is time Peter went in now."

"I--I may see you in the morning?" asked Peter.

"In the morning," she nodded. "Good-night."

She gave him her hand, and he held it as a child holds a hand in the
dark.

"I'll be over in half an hour," Beatrice called back.

It was only a few blocks to the Hotel d'Angleterre, but Marjory ran the
distance. Happily the clerk remembered her, or she might have found
some difficulty in having her excited excuse accepted that she was not
quite suited at the Roses. Then back again to Henri and Marie she
hurried, with orders to have the luggage transferred at once.

CHAPTER XV

IN THE DARK

In her new room at the Hotel d'Angleterre, Marjory dismissed Marie and
buried her hot face in her hands. She felt like a cornered thing--a
shamed and cornered thing. She should not have given the name of the
hotel. She should have sought Monte and ordered him to take her away.
Only--she could not face Monte himself. She did not know how she was
going to see him to-morrow--how she was ever going to see him again.
"Monsieur and Madame Covington," he had signed the register. Beatrice
must have seen it, but Peter had not. He must never see it, because he
would force her to confess the truth--the truth she had been struggling
to deny to herself.

She had trifled with a holy thing--that was the shameful truth. She
had posed here as a wife when she was no wife. The ceremony at the
English chapel helped her none. It only made her more dishonest. The
memory of Peter Noyes had warned her at the time, but she had not
listened. She had lacked then some vision which she had since
gained--gained through Monte. It was that which made her understand
Peter now, and the wonder of his love and the glory and sacredness of
all love. It was that which made her understand herself now.

She got to her feet, staring into the dark toward the seashore.

"Monte, forgive me--forgive me!" she choked.

She had trifled with the biggest thing in his life and in her life.
She shouldered the full blame. Monte knew nothing either of himself or
of her. He was just Monte, honest and four-square, living up to his
bargain. But she had seen the light in his eyes--the eyes that should
have le