Bishop '11
be down in a minute."

"Aren't you happy? That it?"

"Yes."

"You aren't happy?"

"No."

"Harold?"

"Yes."

On the fender she beat out her thoughts.

"All the things she wants to say and is too proud," he said to himself
as he watched the tapping of her dainty toe. That was precisely what
he was meant to think.

"What's he done?" he asked.

"Tisn't what he's done--I don't think he's done anything."

"Then what?" He put his hand on her shoulder. "Poor old Dolly," he
said softly. "But why did you say that about bringing mistresses down
here?"

She looked up frankly--generously into his eyes. "Jealousy," she
admitted.

He laughed lightly. It just caught the edge of his vanity to which
she played. Then, bending down, he kissed her, and as Sally entered
the room, she saw the kiss--to her, a kiss of Judas. In that instant,
the intuition that it was she who was betrayed, shot upwards like
a flame of fire, rushing the blood in a burning race to her temples.

CHAPTER IV

You may jeer at the instinct of a woman, plant the straight line of
logic beside it and ridicule the comparison as you choose, but it
is a sense, a subliminal sense, number it as you like, upon which
she can rely as surely as on touch or scent or sight.

"One of those impulsive conjectures of yours," Traill had said to
his sister in reply to her intuition of his relations with Sally.
"You don't quite know what you're speaking about, and that gives you
confidence. You're a woman." In the face of her accuracy he had said
that. It is only retaliation a man has when a woman betrays the
amazing abnormality of that sense which he can never hope to possess.
He resorts to one weapon, the scientific reliability of evidence.

"Where's your evidence?" he asks, and having none, he smiles at her.
But she knows; a knowledge that will sweep her into the fire of action,
whilst he is methodically buckling on his armour of conviction with
the straps of logical evidence.

It was this instinct, the sixth sense in Sally, that had cast her
mind forward, flung it beyond herself into the future, where she saw
the Tragedy that awaited her. From the moment she had seen that kiss,
she had known that she had an enemy whose weapons were sure, whose
wielding of them was quick and keen. From that moment, standing on
the rise of so small, so insignificant an incident, she had seen ahead
into the years and known what her end would be. With what evid