erposed.

"Home, please," Berenice said calmly. "Good-by, Mr. Matravers."

"Good night."

The carriage rolled away. At the corner of the street Berenice pulled
the check-string. "The Milan Restaurant," she told the man briefly.

Matravers and Ellison lit their cigarettes and strolled away on foot.
At the corner of the street Ellison had an inspiration.

"Let us," he said, "have some supper somewhere."

Matravers shook his head.

"I really have a great deal of work to do," he said, "and I must write
this notice for the _Day_. I think that I will go straight home."

Ellison thrust his arm through his companion's, and called a hansom.

"It will only take us half an hour," he declared, "and we will go to
one of the fashionable places. You will be amused! Come! It all
enters, you know, into your revised scheme of life--the attainment of
a fuller and more catholic knowledge of your fellow-creatures. We will
see our fellow-creatures _en fete_."

Matravers suffered himself to be persuaded. They drove to a restaurant
close at hand, and stood for a moment at the entrance looking for
seats. The room was crowded.

"I will go," Ellison said, "and find the director. He knows me well,
and he will find me a table."

[Illustration: Her companion, who was intent upon the wine list,
noticed nothing]

He elbowed his way up to the further end of the apartment. Matravers
remained a somewhat conspicuous figure in the doorway looking from one
to another of the little parties with a smile, half amused, half
interested. Suddenly his face became grave,--his heart gave an
unaccustomed leap! He stood quite still, his eyes fixed upon the bent
head and white shoulders of a woman only a few yards away from him.
Almost at the same moment Berenice looked up and their eyes met. The
colour left her cheeks,--she was ghastly pale! A sentence which she
had just begun died away upon her lips; her companion, who was intent
upon the wine list, noticed nothing. She made a movement as though to
rise. Simultaneously Matravers turned upon his heel and left the room.

Ellison came hurrying back in a few moments and looked in vain for his
companion. As he stood there watching the throng of people, Berenice
called him to her.

"Your friend," she said, "has gone away. He stood for a moment in the
doorway like Banquo's ghost, and then he disappeared."

Ellison looked vaguely bewildered.

"Matravers is an odd sort," he remarked. "I suppose it is one