d she would be face to face.

She shuddered, for he would call her his daughter and kiss her forehead.
Then the smile came back to her lips, and she rose. It didn't matter;
nothing mattered but the great, primary fact that in--how many
hours?--four, she would see him. Let his mood be what it
would--fatherly, aloof, impish--he would be himself, she would see him,
and she loved him.

The Duchess of Wight had written to her, and going to her dressing-table
she re-read the note.

It was short, simply telling her that her mother had told of her
arrival, and asking her to dine at 8.30 in Charles Street. Not she, she
would not lose one second of the glorious anticipations that were hers
now. She would sit here close to her fire and gloat over her joy.
Sitting down, she took a sheet of paper and began to write----

"Dear Duchess,--Thanks so much for asking me to dine, but----"

She broke off and sat staring at the wall. To-morrow at this time what
would have become of her? The world would have run its course, come to
its end, and yet she would be still alive! Could she bear it?

She would have told her story; made these people understand that she
could never be one of them; broken (for the time) Theo's young heart,
and been reviled and cast out by Joyselle.

And she would have to return here, alone, broken with grief, hopeless.
Drearily she looked round the room. It would all be the same; nothing
would change; the very roses on her dressing-table would still be fresh
and sweet, and--she?

Raising her head, she met her own eyes in a glass, and started. Her own
beauty amazed her. "If he could see me now," she said aloud, "he
couldn't call me '_petite fille_.' He doesn't know I _am_ a woman; he
has seen me--as if through spectacles. If I had never known Theo, and
then met him somewhere by chance----"

She recalled his frank, wondering amazement as she raised her veil that
evening in the train.

"He sees me always with Theo's shadow between us. It is--unfair--and----"

She took a fresh sheet of paper and began her letter again:

"Dear Duchess.--Thanks so much for asking me to dine to-night.
I shall be delighted to come.
Yours sincerely. "Brigit Mead."

Then she rang for the housemaid, who would in the absence of her half
of Amelie have to help her dress, and gave her certain directions.

To-morrow might bring what it would. That one evening was hers, and she
would use it.