he
remarked smoothly.

"And equally of course," retorted Trix, "I shall do nothing of the kind.
Quite possibly you mayn't trust me, because--because I _did_ sneeze. But
honestly I didn't have time to think properly then, at least, only time
to think how to get out of the difficulty, and not time to think about
fairness or anything. I truly don't tell lies generally. And to tell
about you would be like telling what was in a private letter if you'd
read it by accident, so _of course_ I shan't say a word."

Nicholas held out his hand without speaking. Trix got up from her chair,
and put her own warm hand into his cold one.

"All right," he said in an oddly gentle voice. "And you can speak to
Doctor Hilary about it if you like. You'll no doubt need a safety valve."
He looked again at her, still holding her hand. "Haven't I seen you
before?" he asked.

Trix nodded. "When I was a tiny child. My name is Trix Devereux. I used
to come here with my father."

"What!" exclaimed Nicholas, "Jack Devereux's daughter! How is the old
fellow?"

"He died five years ago," said Trix softly.

Nicholas dropped her hand.

"And I live on," he said grimly. "It's a queer world." He looked down at
the black dressing gown which hid his useless legs. "Bah, where's the use
of sentiment at this time of day. Anyhow it's a pleasure to meet you,
even though your entrance was a bit of----"

"An intrusion," smiled Trix.

"I was going to say a surprise," said Nicholas courteously. "And now you
must allow me to give you some tea."

Trix hesitated.

"Oh, but," she demurred, "the butler will see me."

"And a very pleasant sight for him," responded Nicholas, "if you will
permit an old man to pay you a compliment. Besides Jessop is used to
holding his tongue."

Trix laughed.

"That," she said, "I can quite well imagine."

Nicholas pressed the electric button attached to the arm of his chair. He
watched the door, a curious amusement in his eyes.

Trix attempted an appearance of utter unconcern, nevertheless she could
not avoid a reflection or two regarding the butler's possible views on
her presence.

During the few seconds of waiting, she surveyed the room. It was
extraordinarily familiar. Nothing was altered from her childish days. The
very position of the furniture was the same. There were the same heavy
brocaded curtains to the windows, the same morocco-covered chairs, the
same thick Aubusson carpet, the same book-cases lined with rat