e pathetic droop of her
eyelids and the corners of her lips.

"How wise you are for him, Paul! And you _will_ come home for a little
before going back?"

"I hope so, devoutly, if Bellagio proves a success."

The crowd about them, surging chaotically to and fro, recalled them to
prosaic considerations of luggage and a corner seat in the express,
which Paul--unhurried yet singularly efficient--did not fail to
secure. That done, Honor was confided to the care of an assiduous
guard, and was supplied with fruit, chocolate, and more newspapers
than she could possibly digest;--trifling services which the girl, in
her great loneliness, rated at their true value.

By that time the platform had emptied its contents into the high,
dingy-looking carriages of the Paris-Lyons Express. A gong clanged.
Honor put out an ungloved hand and had some ado not to wince before it
was released.

"Thank you--for everything," she murmured, sudden tears starting to
her eyes. "I only wish Theo could have come too!"

"I'll tell him that. It may do him good!"

In spite of herself the blood flew to her cheeks. But before she could
answer, the train jolted forward--and she was gone.

Paul Wyndham stood a long while motionless, looking into empty space;
then, with a sensible jar, he came very completely back to earth.

* * * * *

It was near sunset when he reached their haven of refuge, a small
hotel set in a rocky garden overlooking the sea. No sign of Theo
within doors,--and Paul strolled down the narrow pathway that led to
his friend's favourite seat. There, at the far end, leaning upon the
balustrade, he sighted an unmistakable figure black against a blazing
heaven rippled with light clouds that gave promise of greater glory to
come.

Footsteps behind him roused Desmond. He started and turned about with
a new eagerness that was balm to the heart of his friend.

"Ah--_there_ you are! It's been a long day." His eyes scanned
Wyndham's face. "You've seen her?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes--I have seen her."

"How did she look? Well?"

"She looked very beautiful," Paul answered simply, an odd thrill in
his voice. "But not--not like her old self. One can see--she has
suffered."

Desmond bit his lip and turned away again. A sudden mist blurred the
sunset splendour, the bronze and purple iridescence of the sea. Paul
went on speaking.

"She sent you a message, Theo--she wished you had come too."

"Did she?