pes and thoughts with some confidence to Stella
Croyle--until she turned and showed him her face. The sympathy and
gentleness had gone from it. She was white with passion and her eyes
blazed.

"Why do you lie to me?" she cried. "I met Harry this morning."

Hillyard was more startled by the news of Luttrell's presence in London
than confused by the detection of his lie.

"Harry Luttrell!" he exclaimed. "You are sure? He is in England?"

"Yes. I met him in Piccadilly outside Jerningham's"--she mentioned the
great outfitters and provision merchants--"he told me that he had run
across you in the Sudan. What made you say that you hadn't?"

Hillyard was taken at a loss.

"Well?" she insisted.

Hillyard could see no escape except by the way of absolute frankness.

"Because I gave him your message, Mrs. Croyle," he replied slowly, "and
I judged that he was not going to answer it."

Stella Croyle was inclined to think that the world was banded against
her, to deceive her and to do her harm. They had all been engaged,
Hardiman and the rest of them, in keeping Harry Luttrell away from her:
in defending him, whether he wished it or not, from the wiles of the
enchantress. Stella Croyle was quick enough in the up-take where her
wounded heart was not concerned, but she was never very clear in any
judgment which affected Harry Luttrell. Passion and disappointment and
hope drew veils between the truth and her, and she dived below the plain
reason to this or that far-fetched notion for the springs of his
conduct. Almost she had persuaded herself that Harry Luttrell, by the
powerful influence of friends, was being kept against his will from her
side. Her anger against Hillyard had sprung, not from the mere fact that
he had lied to her, but from her fancy that he had joined the imaginary
band of her enemies. She understood now that in this she had been wrong.

"I see," she said gently. "It was to spare me pain?"

"Yes."

Suddenly Stella Croyle laughed--and with triumph. She showed to Hillyard
a face from which all the anger had gone.

"You need not have been so anxious to spare me. Harry is coming here
this afternoon."

She saw the incredulity flicker in Hillyard's eyes, but she did not
mind.

"Yes," she asserted. "He goes down this evening to a camp in the New
Forest where his battalion is waiting to go to France. He starts at six
from Waterloo. He promised to run in here first."

Hillyard looked at the clock. It was a