rvin, following a moment of hesitation, crossed
and opened the door. The dog ran out, yapping in his irritating staccato
fashion, and an expression of hope faded from Irvin's face as he saw a
tall fair girl standing in the hallway talking to Hinkes, the butler.
She wore soiled Burberry, high-legged tan boots, and a peaked cap of
distinctly military appearance. Irvin would have retired again, but
the girl glanced up and saw him where he stood by the library door. He
summoned up a smile and advanced.

"Good evening, Miss Halley," he said, striving to speak genially--for of
all of his wife's friends he liked Margaret Halley the best. "Were you
expecting to find Rita at home?"

The girl's expression was vaguely troubled. She had the clear complexion
and bright eyes of perfect health, but to-night her eyes seemed
over-bright, whilst her face was slightly pale.

"Yes," she replied; "that is, I hoped she might be at home."

"I am afraid I cannot tell you when she is likely to return. But please
come in, and I will make inquiries."

"Oh, no, I would rather you did not trouble and I won't stay, thank you
nevertheless. I expect she will ring me up when she comes in."

"Is there any message I can give her?"

"Well"--she hesitated for an instant--"you might tell her, if you would,
that I only returned home at eight o'clock, so that I could not come
around any earlier." She glanced rapidly at Irvin, biting her lip. "I
wish I could have seen her," she added in a low voice.

"She wishes to see you particularly?"

"Yes. She left a note this afternoon." Again she glanced at him in
a troubled way. "Well, I suppose it cannot be helped," she added and
smilingly extended her hand. "Good night, Mr. Irvin. Don't bother to
come to the door."

But Irvin passed Hinkes and walked out under the porch with Margaret
Halley. Humid yellow mist floated past the street lamps, and seemed to
have gathered in a moving reef around the little runabout car which was
standing outside the house, its motor chattering tremulously.

"Phew! a beastly night!" he said. "Foggy and wet."

"It's a brute isn't it?" said the girl laughingly, and turned on the
steps so that the light shining out of the hallway gleamed on her white
teeth and upraised eyes. She was pulling on big, ugly, furred gloves,
and Monte Irvin mentally contrasted her fresh, athletic type of beauty
with the delicate, exotic charm of his wife.

She opened the door of the little car, got i