Gaiety overcame silence. All talked with one voice.

Carlisle Heth descended the stairs in a carriage-robe of blue-and-fur,
giving and taking lively good-nights. Canning, already mufflered and
overcoated, stood awaiting her near the door: over many heads she caught
sight of his splendid figure and her heart leapt a little. If it had
been horrid for her to-night so far, no one would have guessed it,
looking at her. Her shining loveliness upon the stairs attracted
considerable attention; even her best girl-friend Mattie Allen noticed
it, spoke of it to Evey McVey....

And then at the foot of the steps, she ran right into Jack Dalhousie's
friend once more, the lame stranger whom she had just finally
disposed of.

Encountering the man's eyes by mischance, she would of course have
looked away at once, but her glance was trapped by the expression on his
face. He was smiling; smiling straight at her. An odd smile it was, and
complicated; not without diffidence, but certainly not without hope;
quite an eager smile, confiding somehow, by the gift he had. It was as
if he was saying that of course he knew she hadn't really meant what she
said back there; and that he, for one, would never let a hasty word or
two cut him off from the hope of being good friends yet.

Having thus by a trick captured her attention, he made a pleased sort of
gesture toward the breast-pocket of his fat-man's coat, and, while she
passed silent within a foot of him, said quite eagerly:

"_I--I got the marrons!_"

XI

In which Mr. Canning must go South for his Health, and Cally
lies awake to think.

Midnight stillness hung over the House of Heth, five doors from Mr.
Beirne's. Dim sounds from above indicated that Mrs. Heth, who had come
in a few moments earlier, did not mean to sit up for anybody. She had,
however, left the door "on the latch" as agreed. Carlisle and Mr.
Canning passed within, out of the biting New Year.

It was like stepping into heaven to be at home again, after the rabble
and rattle at Mr. Beirne's. Canning shut the door with something like
a sigh.

"A lodge at last! We've had--well, a fragmentary time of it, haven't
we?... That chap with the game foot is simply my hoodoo."

Carlisle winced a little. "Oh! Then you did remember him?"

"Could I forget my Beach supplanter, my giver of colds in the head?
What's wrong with the fellow anyway?"

"Everything," said she. "Let's go into the library."

"Why s