im away. Soon he was by her side
at the table. Their companions were uninteresting. Andrew was out of
sight. Duncombe forgot everything else in the world except that he was
with her.

Their conversation was of trifles, yet intimate trifles. The general
talk buzzed all round them. Neither made any effort to arrest it. To
Duncombe she seemed simply the image he had created and worshipped
suddenly come to life. That it was not in fact her picture went for
nothing. There was no infidelity. The girl who had existed in his dreams
was here. It was for her that he had departed from the even tenor of his
ways, for her he had searched in Paris, for her he had braved the
horrors of that unhappy week. Already he felt that she belonged to him,
and in a vague sort of way she, too, seemed to be letting herself drift,
to be giving color to his unconscious assumption by her lowered tone, by
the light in her eyes which answered his, by all those little nameless
trifles which go to the sealing of unwritten compacts.

Once her manner changed. Her father, who was on the opposite side of the
table a little way off, leaned forward and addressed her.

"Say, Sybil, where did we stay in Paris? I've forgotten the name of the
place."

"L'hotel d'Athenes," she answered, and at once resumed her conversation
with Duncombe.

But somehow the thread was broken. Duncombe found himself watching the
little gray man opposite, who ate and drank so sparingly, who talked
only when he was spoken to, and yet who seemed to be taking a keen but
covert interest in everything that went on about him. Her father! There
was no likeness, no shadow of a likeness. Yet Duncombe felt almost a
personal interest in him. They would know one another better some day,
he felt.

"So you've been in Paris lately?" he asked her suddenly.

She nodded.

"For a few days."

"I arrived from there barely a week ago," he remarked.

"I hate the place!" she answered. "Talk of something else."

And he obeyed.

The second interruption came from Andrew. During a momentary lull in the
conversation they heard his firm clear voice talking.

"My time was up yesterday, but I find so much to interest me down here
that I think I shall stay on for a few more days, if my host remains as
hospitable as ever."

"So much to interest him," she murmured. "Are not all places the same to
the blind? What does he mean?"

"He is not really blind!" Duncombe answered, lowering his voice. "He can