he paltry adventures of Mudie's
heroines, or the stupendous feats chronicled in the daily press.
Instead, his thoughts flew back to that lucky rescue in the Strand, to
the wondrous hours with Beatrice in the theater or in the Bloomsbury
flat, to the mad adventure of the magnanimous churchwarden, to the
thousand incidents of the past adventurous month. He could not read, but
tobacco was no hindrance to the brave play of memory and imagination,
and with a luxurious smile he lighted a pipe and drowsed. Presently,
between the nicotian clouds, he thought, "I must make Winifred be
friends. What scheme shall I try? Winifred is a dear, too, though she
has a woman's resentment. What can I do to make them all happy--to make
every one happy? Winifred ... Beatrice...."

The besotted lover, overcome with his soul's reaction, the June sun and
a crowded morning, fell asleep....

He was roused by a touch upon the shoulder. He awoke and blinked lazily
toward heaven. Beside him stood an angel in a lavender linen frock, and
a lavender hat with a daring touch of black, carrying a lavender parasol
with a white handle. It was Beatrice at last!

CHAPTER XXV

THE GOD OF THE MACHINE

Lionel stared dumbly for a moment, not completely realizing what had
happened. Then he jumped up with a wry smile. "You must think me a poor
watcher," he said, inwardly cursing his sleepiness. "I was so busy
waiting and thinking of you that I suppose I must have--I imagine I
have--that is, I fell asleep. Did you come by train?"

"Yes," she said. It would be idle to say "in the well-remembered tones."
Her voice was identical with Winifred's: her appearance, gesture,
carriage--all were Winifred's; but the telepathy of love told Lionel the
myriad differences between the sisters, differences impalpable,
impossible to define or even hint at, but differences that were real, if
psychological. "I came by the four-thirty, and walked from the station."

"Then--good heavens! what time is it?"

"Six o'clock," she said with a smile. "How long have you been asleep?"

"It must be at least three hours," said Lionel in rueful amazement.
"Fancy wasting three hours of a day like this in sleep! But don't let us
waste any more. Tell me all about yourself, your plans, everything. You
are well?" he added anxiously, though the question was needless.

"Perfectly. And you?"

"Quite fit, thanks." And a silence fell between them. It seemed odd that
there should be a silen