shrugs her shoulders.

"Mr. Thorndyke does not spare me. To which of my defects, I wonder, do I
owe this steady regard?"

"Norine!"

The name breaks from his lips at last. He still stands and stares.

She uplifts her graceful shoulders once more--the old French trick of
gesture he remembers so well.

"I remind Mr. Thorndyke of some one, possibly," she says--impatience
mingled with her "society manner," this time--"of some lady he knows?"

"Of some one I once knew, certainly, Mrs.--Ah, Darcy," he retorts, his
face flushing angrily, his old insolent ease of manner returning, "I am
not sure that you would call her a lady. She was a French
Canadienne--her name--would you like to hear her name, Mrs.
Liston-Darcy?"

"It does not interest me at all, Mr. Thorndyke."

"Her name was Norine Bourdon, and she was like--most astoundingly like
_you_! So like that I could swear you were one and the same."

"Ah, indeed! But I would not take a rash oath if I were you. These
accidental resemblances are so deceptive. Mr. Wentworth, if you will
give me your arm, I think I will go and look at the dancers."

The last words were very marked. With a chill, formal bow to Mr.
Thorndyke she took her escort's arm, and turned to move away. With that
angry flush still on his face, that angry light still in his eyes,
Laurence Thorndyke interposed.

"Mrs. Darcy, they are playing the 'Soldaten Lieder'. It is a favorite
waltz of yours, I _know_. Will you not give it to me?"

She turned upon him slowly, a swift, black flash in her eyes that made
him recoil.

"You make a mistake, Mr. Thorndyke! Of what I dance or what I do not,
you can possibly know nothing. For the rest, my time of mourning for my
dear adopted father has but just expired. I do not dance at all."

Then she was gone--tall, and fair and graceful as a lily. And Laurence
Thorndyke drew a long breath, his face aglow with genuine admiration.

"By Jupiter!" he said; "who'd have thought it! In the language of the
immortal Dick Swiveller, 'This is a staggerer!' Who'd have thought she'd
have had the pluck! And who would have thought she would ever have grown
so handsome?"

"You _do_ know her, then, Thorndyke?" his host asked, in intense
curiosity.

Mr. Thorndyke had forgotten him, but Mr. Allison was still at his elbow.
His reply was a short, curious laugh.

"Know her? By Jove! I used to think so, but at this moment I am inclined
to doubt it. Have you not heard her deny it, an