opped her hand, and stood looking at her, and waiting for her to
speak. Her face, as Clare saw it, from a distance now, looked whiter
than ever. After an instant she turned from him with a quick movement,
but not towards the hotel.

She walked slowly towards the stone parapet of the platform. As she
went, Clare again saw her raise her handkerchief and press it to her
lips, but she did not bend her head. She went and leaned on her elbows
on the parapet, and her hands pulled nervously at the handkerchief as
she looked down at the calm sea far below. Brook followed her slowly,
but just as he was near, she, hearing his footsteps, turned and leaned
back against the low wall.

"Give me a cigarette," she said in a hard voice. "I'm nervous--and I've
got to face those people in a moment."

Clare started again in sheer surprise. She had expected tears, fainting,
angry words, a passionate appeal--anything rather than what she heard.
Brook produced a silver case which gleamed in the moonlight. Lady Fan
took a cigarette, and her companion took another. He struck a match and
held it up for her in the still air. The little flame cast its red glare
into their faces. The young girl had good eyes, and as she watched them
she saw the man's expression was grave and stern, a little sad, perhaps,
but she fancied that there was the beginning of a scornful smile on the
woman's lips. She understood less clearly then than ever what manner of
human beings these two strangers might be.

For some moments they smoked in silence, the lady in white leaning back
against the parapet, the man standing upright with one hand in his
pocket, holding his cigarette in the other, and looking out to sea. Then
Lady Fan stood up, too, and threw her cigarette over the wall.

"It's time to be going," she said, suddenly. "They'll be coming after us
if we stay here."

But she did not move. Sideways she looked up into his face. Then she
held out her hand.

"Good-bye, Brook," she said, quietly enough, as he took it.

"Good-bye," he murmured in a low voice, but distinctly.

Their hands stayed together after they had spoken, and still she looked
up to him in the moonlight. Suddenly he bent down and kissed her on the
forehead--in an odd, hasty way.

"I'm sorry, Fan, but it won't do," he said.

"Again!" she answered. "Once more, please!" And she held up her face.

He kissed her again, but less hastily, Clare thought, as she watched
them. Then, without another