heard your voice like a prayer at twilight, seen your eyes
watching me as I slept and found your hair gleaming in many a golden
sunset."

"Of course I don't," cried Yvonne, with mock severity. "How can I
possibly know what you are thinking when you are hundreds of miles away!
I only know that when you come back you forget to kiss me."

"I don't forget, Yvonne. I think of you a thousand times a day, and
every thought is a kiss."

"Then you have only thought of me twice to-day," said Yvonne, standing
up and crossing to a Chesterfield. She seated herself, resting her head
upon a black cushion and posing deliberately with the confidence of a
pretty woman.

"That is a challenge," replied Paul, "and I accept it."

He followed her, but she covered her face with her hands tauntingly, and
only resigned her lips after a long struggle. Then they sat silently,
very close together, the golden head leaning against the dark one, and
ere long Paul's restless mind was at work again.

"Don is on leave, Yvonne," he said. "Isn't that fine?"

"Oh, yes," replied Yvonne, stifling a sigh. "He called yesterday."

"He called!" cried Paul, sitting upright excitedly. "You did not tell
me."

"How could I tell you, Paul? I have not seen you alone until now. Don
did not know you were away. A letter came from him two days ago----"

"I know. That was how I learned of his being home."

"He said he would come this afternoon. Oh--perhaps here he is."

Yvonne smoothed her skirt and moved to a discreet distance from Paul as
a parlourmaid came in. Paul leapt up, eagerly.

"Captain Courtier?" he cried to the girl.

"Yes, sir."

Paul ran out into the hall. Yvonne rose from the Chesterfield and slowly
walked back to the piano. She stood for a while idly turning over the
pages of music; then, as her husband did not return, she went up to her
room. She could hear Paul talking excitedly as she passed the study
door.

VI

Don gazed curiously around the large and lofty room. In early Victorian
days this apartment had been a drawing-room or salon, wherein crinolined
dames and whiskered knights had discoursed exclusively in sparkling
epigrams according to certain memoirs in which this salon was frequently
mentioned. It had been selected by Paul for a workroom because of its
charming outlook upon the secluded little garden with its sundial and
irregularly paved paths, and because it was the largest room in the
house. Although in a lesser degree