ned wide in startled recognition.
"Hugh--Hugh Egerton!" she stammered, whispering as one whispers in a
dream.

She was pale as a lily, but the whiteness of her face was like light,
shining from within; and there was a light in her great eyes, too, such
as had never shone for Hugh on sea or land. Once, a long time ago, he
had hoped that she cared, or would come to care. But she had chosen
another man, and Hugh had gone away; that had been the end. Yet
now--what stars her eyes were! One might almost think that she had not
forgotten; that sometimes she had wished for him, that she was glad to
see him now.

"Lady Clifford," he stammered. "I--will you forgive my being here--my
frightening you like this?"

The brightness died out of her face. "Lady Clifford!" she echoed. "Don't
call me that, unless--I'm to call you Mr. Egerton? And besides, I'm only
Madame Clifford here. It is better; the other would seem like
ostentation in a woman who works."

"Evelyn," he said. "Thank you for letting it be Evelyn." Then, his voice
breaking a little, "Oh, say you're a tiny bit glad to see me, just a
tiny bit glad."

She did not answer in words; but her eyes spoke, as she held out both
hands.

[Illustration: _He crushed them in his, then bent his head and kissed
them_]

He crushed them in his, then bent his head and kissed them; first the
girlish right hand, then the left. But she saw his face contract as
he caught the gleam of her wedding ring. As he looked up, their eyes met
again, and each knew what was in the other's mind.

"Angel, dearest," said Rosemary, "do tell the fairy father you're glad
to see him."

Evelyn started. "Why do you call him that?"

"Because he said he was a fairy, and would have to vanish soon. But
you'll beg him not to, won't you?"

"I--I should be sorry to lose him again. We haven't many friends, in
these days." The bright head was bowed over the child's, as Rosemary
clung to her mother's dress.

"You never lost me," said Hugh Egerton. "It was I who lost you. Evie,
you don't know what black years these have been. I loved you so."

"But that--was--long ago."

"It was always."

"Hugh! I thought you must have learned to hate me."

"Hate you, because I couldn't make you care for me as--I hoped you
would, and because you cared for someone else? No, I--"

"But--I did care for you. It was for my father's sake that--that--ah, I
can't talk of it, Hugh. You know, we were so poor after father lost his