She knew that she must
meet this man whom she had not seen for twelve years. She felt that he
would seek her, though why she could not tell; but this day she wanted to
forget her past, all things but one, though she might have to put it away
from her ever after. Women have been known to live a lifetime on the joy
of one day. Her eyes fell again on the mantelpiece, on Hagar's unopened
letters. At first her eyes wandered over the writing on the uppermost
envelope mechanically, then a painful recognition came into them. She had
seen that writing before, that slow sliding scrawl unlike any other,
never to be mistaken. It turned her sick. Her fingers ran up to the
envelope, then drew back. She felt for an instant that she must take it
and open it as she stood there. What had the writer of that letter to do
with George Hagar? She glanced at the postmark. It was South Hampstead.
She knew that he lived in South Hampstead. The voices behind her grew
indistinct; she forgot where she was. She did not know how long she stood
there so, nor that Baron, feeling, without reason, the necessity for
making conversation, had suddenly turned the talk upon a collision, just
reported, between two vessels in the Channel. He had forgotten their names
and where they hailed from--he had only heard of it, hadn't read it; but
there was great loss of life. She raised her eyes from the letter to the
mirror and caught sight of her own face. It was deadly pale. It suddenly
began to waver before her and to grow black. She felt herself swaying, and
reached out to save herself. One hand caught the side of the mirror. It
was lightly hung. It loosened from the wall, and came away upon her as she
wavered. Hagar had seen the action. He sprang forward, caught her, and
pushed the mirror back. Her head dropped on his arm.

The young girl ran forward with some water as Hagar placed Mrs. Detlor on
the sofa. It was only a sudden faintness. The water revived her. Baron
stood dumbfounded, a picture of helpless anxiety.

"I oughtn't to have driveled about that accident," he said. "I always was
a fool."

Mrs. Detlor sat up, pale, but smiling in a wan fashion. "I am all right
now," she said. "It was silly of me--let us go, dear," she added to the
young girl; "I shall be better for the open air--I have had a headache all
morning. * * * No, please, don't accuse yourself, Mr. Baron, you are not
at all to blame."

"I wish that was all the bad news I have," said Baron to