Commandant continued to stare. No mystery? That the fisherman's
daughter with the Island lilt in her voice--well he recalled
it!--should have turned into this apparition of furs and jewels?... And
yet the metamorphosis lay not in the furs and jewels, but in her
careless air of command, of reliance upon her power, beauty,
charm--whatever her woman's secret might be; an air of one accustomed
to move in courts, maybe, or to control great audiences, or to live
habitually with lofty thoughts; an air of one, above all, sure of
herself. The poor Commandant had lived the better part of his life in
exile, but by instinct of breeding he recognised this air at once.
Vashti, however, seemed to mistake his astonishment, for she frowned.

"Well?" she asked, a trifle impatiently.

"Your sister never told us," he stammered. "At least--that is to
say----"

"Do you suppose she was ashamed of me?"

"Ashamed?" he echoed, for indeed no such thought had occurred to him.
If ever a man could have taken _honi soit qui mal y pense_ for his
motto, it was our Commandant.

"Ah, to be sure!" she said slowly, but less in indignation (it seemed)
than in disappointment with him. "Naturally that would be the
explanation to occur to you, living so long in such a place."

She turned on her heel, half contemptuously, and resumed her way,
walking with a yet quicker step than before. The Commandant, aware that
he had offended, but not in the least understanding how, toiled after
her up the steep incline to the garrison gate.

They reached the door of the Barracks. To his surprise it was standing
open, and from behind the ragged blind of his sitting-room--to the left
of the entrance hall--a light shone feebly out upon the fog. He could
not remember that he had lit the lamp there, nor that he had left the
front door open.

Vashti paused upon the doorstep and turned to him:

"My good sir," she said curtly, "run and fetch Mrs. Treacher to me, for
goodness' sake."

He hesitated, on the point of stepping past her to open the door of the
lighted room. Her manner forbade him, and he stood still, there by the
doorstep, gazing after her a moment as she disappeared into the dark
hall. Then, as he heard the door latch rattle gently, he turned to
hurry in search of Mrs. Treacher.

He had taken but a dozen steps, however, when her light footfall
sounded again close behind him. She, too, had turned and was following
him almost at a run.

"Why didn't you tel