he was making his name now, and
it well might--would he bring her here to live with him? Would he
perhaps make her his wife? Or would they live, as they lived together
now? Or--and the thought drove blood that was cold and chilling
through her veins--would it be impossible for them to live so
publicly in such a way, and would he then live alone?

She tried to shake herself free of this mood of conjecture, took the
handle firmly within her fingers, opened the door, and walked into
the room.

The next moment her heart leapt, a live thing within her, then lay
still. Every action through her body seemed suspended. She scarcely
realized her physical existence at all. It was as though she were
conscious only of mind, mind that was filled with perplexity,
astonishment, consternation, a mind that was being buffeted by winds
from every quarter of the compass of sensation. And through it all,
she struggled to drive words together into sentences, words, that
like a flock of witless sheep upon open ground, would not be driven,
but ran this way and jumped that in a frolicsome imbecility of
purpose.

And there she stood, just within the room, while Mrs. Durlacher with
slowly uplifting eyebrows of amazement rose gradually from the
comfortable armchair to her feet.

"Aren't you Miss--Miss--?" She tried to catch the name in the air
with her fingers.

"Bishop," said Sally, with dry lips.

"Yes, of course, Bishop--Miss Bishop?"

Sally half inclined her head.

"But what--?" she hesitated, knowing that the rest of her sentence
must be obvious, yet gaining time to put the matter together--fit
it to the whole from its separate parts. This was the girl whom she
had met that night in Jack's room--the girl he had called a lady.
They were still acquainted, still friends--greater friends than ever,
since he had brought her down with him to Apsley. Were they married?
Married secretly? She was a thousand times better dressed than she
had been before. The thought tasted bitter. She swallowed the
possibility of it with undeniable courage.

"Have you come down here with my brother?" she asked, still in assumed
bewilderment.

"Yes," replied Sally. "We--we came down in a taxi-cab."

"But he never said he was bringing any one. He wrote. I--I thought
he was going to be alone."

Nothing could be said to this. To apologize for her presence there
would be ridiculous. Sally said nothing.

"Well," Mrs. Durlacher smiled, brushing away her surp