ce leaned towards him, her voice
brought him back to the present--not, alas, the voice which at that
moment he would have given so much to have heard.

"To-night," she murmured, "I feel as though we were at the beginning of
new things. We must drink a toast."

Tavernake filled her glass and his own.

"Luck to you in your new profession!" he said.

"And here is one after your own heart, you most curious of men!" she
exclaimed, a few seconds later. "To the undiscovered in life!"

He drained his glass and set it down empty.

"The undiscovered," he muttered, looking around. "It is a very good
toast, Beatrice. There are many things of which one might remain
ignorant all one's life if one relied wholly upon one's own
perceptions."

"I believe," she agreed, "that if I had not appeared you were in great
danger of becoming narrow."

"I am sure of it," he answered, "but you see you came."

She was thoughtful for a moment.

"This reminds me just a little of that first dreary feast of ours," she
said. "You knew what it was like then to feed a genuinely starving girl.
And I was miserable, Leonard. It didn't seem to me that there was any
other end save one."

"You've got over all that nonsense?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes, I suppose so," she answered. "You see, I've started life again and
one gets stronger. But there are times even now," she added, "when I am
afraid."

The mirth had suddenly died from her face. She looked older, tired,
and careworn. The shadows were back under her eyes; she glanced around
almost timorously. He filled her glass.

"That is foolishness," he said. "Nothing nor anybody can harm you now."

Some note in his voice attracted her attention. Strong and square, with
hard, forceful face, he sat wholly at his ease among these unfamiliar
surroundings, a very tower of refuge, she felt, to the weak. His
face was not strikingly intellectual--she was not sure now about his
mouth--but one seemed to feel that dogged nature, the tireless pains by
which he would pursue any aim dear to him. The shadows passed away from
her mind. What was dead was gone! It was not reasonable that she should
be haunted all her days by the ghosts of other people's sins. The
atmosphere of the place, the atmosphere of the last few hours, found its
way again into her blood. After all, she was young, the music was sweet,
her pulses were throbbing to the tune of this new life. She drank her
wine and laughed, her head beating time