ard years--never cared how I muddled and
struggled, nor whether I was alive or dead!"

But she must see him, of course. And she must maintain her proper
dignity. No descending to vulgar reproaches--still less to weak
condonation. She took a moment to calm herself, and walked forth to the
interview. Many things upheld her, but the dead hand of Mr Thornycroft
was her stoutest support.

She needed it when she reached the top of the stairs. Facing the
drawing-room door, awaiting her, stood the figure that really seemed
the one thing wanting to complete the beauty of the beautiful house. He
had never in his younger days been so distinguished-looking as he was
now. In any company, in any part of the world, he must have attracted
notice, as a gentleman, in person and manners, of the very finest type.
And how she did love that sort! How her lonely and hungry heart longed
for him when she saw him--the only man she had ever deemed her natural
mate--and at the same time how she hated him for the disappointment and
the humiliation that he had brought her! Outraged self-respect, her
robust will-power, and her quarter of a million sufficed to save her
from a temptation she would not have fallen into for the world.

She swept forward to shake hands with him, with the grave affability of
a great lady to a guest--any guest--and it was plain from the
expression of his sensitive face that he was as keenly appreciative of
her enhanced beauty and 'finish' as she of his. Black was not her
colour--she was too dark--and she had discarded it for pale greys and
whites, with touches of black about them; today a creamy woollen, thick
and soft, and hanging about her like the drapery of a Greek statue, was
an inspiration in becoming gowns. The maid who had dressed her hair was
a mistress of the art. And Miss Pennycuick's step and poise--well, she
WAS a great lady, and carried herself accordingly.

Her old lover was charmed. He held her hand--and would have held it
thrice as long--and looked into her eyes, too overcome, it appeared, to
speak.

"How do you do?" she said, evading his intense gaze. "What a man you
are for dropping on one in this unexpected, sensational way! Why didn't
you write and tell me you were around?"

She made a movement to withdraw her hand. He held it fast.

"Debbie," said he, in quite a tremulous voice--remarkable in one
constitutionally so self-confident and self-possessed--"Debbie, you
turned me out of your house whe