ndering had
been checked by a battle picture; a vigorous and tragic presentment of
Sir John Moore's retreat from Corunna.

"Here you are, Paul. Here's something worth looking at," said he as
Wyndham joined him; and, soldier-like, they soon fell to discussing
the event rather than the picture. Desmond--his head full of tactics
and military history--held forth fluently quite in his old vein; while
Paul--who heard scarce one word in six--nodded sagely at appropriate
intervals.

Hope died hard in him. A clock outside, chiming the half-hour, rang
its knell with derisive strokes that seemed to beat upon his heart. It
was just his luck. She would never turn up. A hundred contingencies
might arise to prevent her--a street accident, a headache, bad news
of her father----

Sudden silence from Theo cut short the dismal list; and one glance at
him told Paul that his hour was come indeed. For Desmond stood rigid,
a dull flush burning through his tan; and his eyes looked over Paul's
shoulder towards the entrance into Room Number One.

"My God!" he muttered hoarsely, "Here's Honor!"

Without a word Paul turned on his heel and saw how she, too, stood
spellbound, there by the doorway, her cheeks aflame, her eyes more
eloquent than she knew. Taken completely unawares, each had surprised
the other's secret, even as Paul had foreseen. In that lightning flash
of mutual recognition, the end he had wrought for, and agonised for,
was achieved. Obviously they had no further need of his services--and,
unnoticed by either, he passed quietly out of the room.

For one measureless minute they remained confronting each other;
scarcely daring to breathe lest they break the spell of that
passionate unspoken avowal. Then Honor came forward slowly, like one
walking in her sleep--and the spell was gone. In two strides Desmond
had reached her and grasped her outstretched hand.

No attempt at conventional futilities marred their supreme moment.
Words seemed an impertinence in view of the overwhelming fact that he
stood before her thus--his face transfigured and illumined by love
unutterable, by a discovery scarcely realised even now.

There was so much to tell, and again, so little after all, that there
seemed no need to tell it. Yet Honor could not choose but long for the
sound of his voice; and to that end she tried very gently to withdraw
her hand.

Desmond--suddenly aware that they were alone--tightened his grasp.
"No--no," he protested unde