say anything against his mature judgment. He sat in his deep
chair near a window that was half open, his legs stretched straight out
before him, his flashing patent leather feet crossed in a manner which
showed off the most fantastically over-embroidered silk socks, tightly
drawn over his lean but solid ankles.

From the wall behind him the strange face in the encaustic painting
watched him with drooping lids and dewy lips that seemed to quiver; the
ancient woman, ever young, looked as if she knew that he was thinking
of her and that he would not turn round to see her because she was so
like Margaret Donne.

His back was to the picture, but his face was to the door. It opened
softly, he looked up from his book and Margaret was before him, coming
quickly forward. For an instant he did not move, for he was taken
unawares. Behind her, by the door, a man-servant gesticulated
apologies--the lady had pushed by him before he had been able to
announce her. Then another figure appeared, hurrying after Margaret; it
was little Madame De Rosa, out of breath.

Logotheti got up now, and when he was on his feet, Margaret was already
close to him. She was pale and her eyes were bright, and when she spoke
he felt the warmth of her breath in his face. He held out his hand
mechanically, but he hardly noticed that she did not take it.

'I want to speak to you alone,' she said.

Madame De Rosa evidently understood that nothing more was expected of
her for the present, and she sat down and made herself comfortable.

'Will you come with me?' Logotheti asked, controlling his voice.

Margaret nodded; he led the way and they left the room together. Just
outside the door there was a small lift. He turned up the electric
light, and Margaret stepped in; then he followed and worked the lift
himself. In the narrow space there was barely room for two; Logotheti
felt a throbbing in his temples and the red spots on his cheek-bones
grew darker. He could hear and almost feel Margaret's slightest
movement as she stood close behind him while he faced the shut door of
the machine. He did not know why she had come, he did not guess why she
wished to be alone with him, but that was what she had asked, and he
was taking her where they would really be alone together; and it was
not his fault. Why had she come?

When a terrible accident happens to a man, the memory of all his life
may pass before his eyes in the interval of a second or two. I once
knew a