aordinary view of life in general. Some cases, perhaps, it might
have applied to; it did not apply to this. Janet was utterly wrong;
she was not winning him. In this chance meeting with his sister, brief
though it may have been, she knew that she had lost him; arriving
at which conclusion, she probably reached the most dangerous phase
in the whole existence of a woman's temptations.

When Traill returned, he found them both in preparation for departure.
Sally had replaced the little feather boa about her neck and one of
her gloves, which she had taken off when he gave her the coffee, she
was buttoning at the wrist.

"You're not going, are you?" he exclaimed.

"Yes; I must."

"But you haven't told me what you wanted to see me about yet."

"No, I know I haven't; but that must wait. I can easily write to you."

Mrs. Durlacher picked up her skirts, the silk rustling like leaves
in an autumn wind. As she lowered her head in the movement, the
dilation of her nostrils repressed a smile of satisfaction. "You
mustn't let my going force you away," she said graciously.

"Oh, but I must go," said Sally.

Traill shrugged his shoulders. Let her have her way. When women are
doing things for apparently no reason, they are the most obstinate.
But at the door of the room as his sister passed out first, he caught
Sally's elbow in a tense grip and for the instant held her back.

"I shall wait here for you for half an hour," he whispered.

CHAPTER XXII

"Is there anywhere that I can take you, Miss Bishop?" Mrs. Durlacher
offered, as they stood by the side of the shivering taxi. "I'm going
out to Sloane Street."

"Oh no, thank you; it's very good of you. I'm going to catch a train
at Waterloo." She shook hands, then held out her hand quietly to
Traill.

"Good-bye, Mr. Traill."

He took her hand and held it with meaning. "Good-bye."

She turned away and walked down Waterloo Place, her head erect, her
steps firm, but the tears rolling from her eyes, and her breast
lifting with every sob that she stifled in her throat.

Mrs. Durlacher looked after her; then her eyes swept up to her
brother's face.

"Is she going to walk all the way to Waterloo Station?" she asked
incredulously.

"Expect so."

Mrs. Durlacher looked above her in a perfect simulation of amazement.
Then she stepped into the cab.

"Jack," she said, when she was seated.

"What?"

She prefaced her words with a little laugh. "I wouldn't be a little