young
and beautiful, in her night-gear, with her dark hair, 'straight as
rain,' hanging down her back and over her shoulders, and with eyes full
of all my brother loves to see in a woman's eyes, came into his room.
He is not a nervous man, and he saw at once the woman, who in the
moonlight was lovely as a vision, walked in her sleep. He held his
breath, fearing to disturb her. She went to the window, stretched out
her arms to the sea, bathed her hands and her adorable face in the
moonlight, drank in, in grateful breaths, the cool sea air, and passing
silently through his room, left him as she came.

"You think that an interesting experience for my brother, do you not?
But I have not quite finished.

"My brother is a man not without sentiment, although he has attained to
middle life without marrying. He has more sentiment, in fact, than in
his young days, when he decided it was best for man to live alone. He
has seen cause to doubt the wisdom of that creed. He is not without
regrets and longings, thoughts of what might have been, and what might
yet be. Fairly successful and happy in his career, he has yet come to
think that a woman's love and companionship are perhaps just those
things he has missed which might have crowned his life.

"Having arrived at such a pass, he was moved by that vision of the
night--mightily moved. And he swore to himself that the woman who had
come to him like that--a living, breathing, beautiful woman, and yet
almost in an angel's guise--was the woman he would seek out and marry,
if he could prevail on her to have him.

"Tell me what you think of that resolve of my brother's," he asked me
presently. He turned from watching the passing crowd and looked for the
first time in my face; and then he got upon his feet. "You will perhaps
give me your opinion later?" he said. "You will think about it, and let
me hear when I come back?"

I did not wait for his coming back. I went to my room and stayed there.
I don't know if he looked for me at our table in the window next
morning, for I did not go to the coffee-room for breakfast. And by
eleven o'clock I was sitting in the ladies' drawing-room--empty as
Sahara at that hour--with my hotel bill in my hand, wondering how it
was possible that such a little, little holiday should have cost so
very much.

Then he came into the room. He sat down opposite to me at the round
table, and I saw that he had a telegram in his hand.

"I have bad news for you,