er so slight a repudiation of Mrs. Tailleur.

He seated himself; and as he did so he searched his coat pockets. There
were no matches there. He knew he would find some in the lounge. Perhaps
he might find Mrs. Tailleur also. He would get up and look.

Miss Keating (still disembodied) rose and withdrew herself completely,
and Lucy thought better of his intention. He lay back and closed his
eyes.

A light tap on the table roused him. It was Miss Keating laying down a
match-box. He saw her hand poised yet in the delicacy of its
imperceptible approach.

He stared, stupefied with embarrassment. He stuttered with it.
"Really--I--I--I wish you hadn't." He did not take up the match-box all
at once, lest he should seem prompt in accepting this rather
extraordinary service.

Mrs. Tailleur's companion slid back into her seat and sat there smiling
to herself and to the incommunicative night.

"I hope," she said presently, "you are not refraining from smoking
because of me."

She was very sweet and soft and gentle. But she had not struck him as
gentle or soft or sweet when he had seen her with Mrs. Tailleur, and he
was not prepared to take that view of her now.

"Thank you," he said. He could not think of anything else to say. He lit
his cigarette, and smoked in an innocent abstraction.

A clock indoors struck ten. Miss Keating accounted for her continuance.
"It is the only quiet place in the hotel," said she.

He assented, wondering if this were meant for a conversational opening.

"And the night air is so very sweet and pure."

"I'm afraid you find this smoke of mine anything but----"

"If you are so serious about it," said she, "I shall be afraid either to
stay out or to go in."

If there were any opening there he missed it. He had turned at the sound
of a skirt trailing, and he saw that Mrs. Tailleur had come back into
the lounge. He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he got up quietly and
went in.

He did not speak to her or look at her. He sat very still in a corner of
the room where he could see her reflection in a big mirror. It did not
occur to him that Mrs. Tailleur could see his, too.

Outside in the veranda, Miss Keating sat shuddering in the night air.

CHAPTER IV

Lucy's mind was like his body. Superficial people called it narrow,
because the sheer length of it diverted their attention from its
breadth. Visionary, yet eager for the sound impact of the visible, it
was never more alert than