w ... except Varesca."

"A 'heavenly' man?"

Sophy was still smiling.

"Yes. Perfectly deevy; and _so_ clever!"

Suddenly Sophy's smile faded and her eyes grew dark.

"Now you've got your 'fey' look," said Mrs. Arundel, watching her
curiously. "What does it mean? Going with me?"

Sophy did not speak at once. Her eyes seemed to watch something forming
slowly, far away--something that gathered distinctness against the
confused background of life's harlequinade. Suddenly she started, closed
her eyelids an instant, then looked at Olive. Her eyes were still wide
and vague. They looked slightly out of focus, like the eyes of a baby
staring at a flame. Olive felt a little shiver go over her.

"What is it?" she asked. "What do you see?"

"Nothing. It's just a feeling. I'll go with you. Something is going to
happen to me to-night. Something important. The room will have three
windows----"

She broke off again, and looked from Olive's face, far away.

Mrs. Arundel's voice took on an awed tone. "Are you really
superstitious, Sophy?"

"About that, I am."

"About what?"

"About a room with three windows. Don't ask me. I can't explain it. It's
just a feeling."

"Olive!... Come along! We'll be late!" shouted Arundel, from the hall.

The two women went down together, Mrs. Arundel still rather awed.
Sophy's eyes were really so uncanny sometimes. Very, very beautiful, of
course, but eerie. Now if she, Olive Arundel, were a man--she would
prefer something less peculiar, more "human." Olive was very fond of
this word, "human." She felt that, like charity, it covered a multitude
of sins--pretty, pleasant little sins.

* * * * *

When they reached the Ponceforths', the musicale was in full swing. Some
one was singing a song by Maude Valerie White. Sophy heard a little gasp
from Olive--her arm was impetuously seized.

"Sophy," she whispered, in spite of the singing, "there _are_ three
windows!"

Sophy, too, was gazing at the windows. She said nothing. An artist had
lent his flat to the Ponceforths for their musicale. The big studio made
such a capital place for singing. There were three wide windows at one
end.

Sophy moved forward as in a sort of daze, half pleasant, half fearful.
That feeling as of an imminent crisis grew on her. Some one brought her
to a chair. It was a little apart from the other chairs. She sat rather
rigidly, her hands one over the other in her lap. Her profile s