e which hides the
great and holy places of life--you, who have never loved?"

"You have become French to the core," she murmured. "You would believe
that life is kindled by the passions alone."

There was silence between them. Then a servant girl brought in a
telegram. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw. It was from
Brendon.

"Hill gradually recovering consciousness. Doctor says depositions
to-night. Recovery impossible.--BRENDON."

He looked at her gravely.

"I think," he said, "that some one ought to warn her."

"It is Number 8, Cavendish Square," she answered simply.

* * * * *

Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel's long
low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise,
crowded with guests. From the further end of the apartment came the
low music of a violin. Servants were passing backwards and forwards
with tea and chocolate. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel.
Then she came a few steps to meet him.

"Mr. Courtlaw, is it not," she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. "Really
it is very kind of you to have found me out."

He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped,
having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals.

"Lady Mackinnor," she said, "I am sure that you must have heard of Mr.
David Courtlaw. Permit me to make him known to you--Mr. Courtlaw--Lady
Mackinnor."

With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who
had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or
death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. He
bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated
eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay,
with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. Grudgingly he admired
her. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving
parasite--something quite insignificant. He had pictured her, if
indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting
alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave
to constant terror. And instead he found her playing the great lady,
and playing it well. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more
than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. At last he
could bear it no longer. He left his companion in the midst of a
glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess
as she moved fr