o the roots of his hair, for the girl was Marie Deland.

She smiled tremulously, reading the distress in his eyes.

"I thought I was never going to see you any more," she said. She tried
hard to speak casually, but her voice quivered a little. "Where have
you been hiding all this time, Micky?"

Micky stammered out that he really didn't know--that he'd only just
come back from Paris--that he did call to see her one night, but that
they told him she wasn't in. She broke in there impetuously--

"I know; I'm so sorry. It wasn't my fault. I was there all the time.
Mother----" She stopped, biting her lip, but there was no need to
explain further. Micky could well imagine that it was by Mrs. Deland's
orders that the butler had said "Not at home."

His heart was full of remorse as he looked down at Marie. Such a
little while ago he had thought of her as his wife. He had fully meant
to marry her.

He broke out again agitatedly--

"I know you must think I'm an awful sweep. I--I--oh, I can't explain."
He glanced past her to where the rather vapid-looking youth to whom
she had been speaking sat tugging at an incipient moustache.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again. "Who are you with?"

She told him that she was with her married sister and some friends.

"We're going to have dinner here," she said. She was longing to ask
Micky to dine with them, but was obviously afraid to do so.

After a moment--

"I suppose I ought to be going," she said. "Violet will wonder where I
am, Micky." She looked up at him with abashed eyes. "I--I suppose--you
wouldn't--will you come out to tea with me to-morrow?"

Micky's face reflected the flush in her own; he looked away in
miserable embarrassment. He knew that she felt the same towards him as
she had done before that memorable New Year's Eve, and he knew that
whatever happened now he could never feel the same to her any more.

He answered that he would be pleased, very pleased. Where should he
meet her--or should he call for her?

"I'll meet you," she said quickly. "You know where we always used to
go--I'll be there at four, Micky."

She put out her hand and Micky was forced to take it; he felt how her
fingers shook in his, and he cursed himself for a brute as he turned
away and left her.

In a way he was glad they had met. Any other woman would have given
him the snubbing which he knew he so richly deserved. Deep down in his
heart he wished that she had done so; anything wo