ed some vague response.
She heard the door of the flat close behind him, followed almost
immediately by the clang of the iron grille as the lift-boy dragged it
across. It seemed to her as though a curious note of finality sounded in
the metallic clamour of the grille--a grim resemblance to the clank of
keys and shooting of bolts which cuts the outer world from the prisoner
in his cell.

With a little strangled cry she sank into a chair, clasping her hands
tightly together. She sat there, very still and quiet, staring blankly
into space. . . .

And so, an hour later, Penelope found her. She was startled by the
curious, dazed look in her eyes.

"Nan!" she cried sharply. "Nan! What's the matter?"

Nan turned her head fretfully from one side to the other.

"Nothing," she answered dully. "Nothing whatever."

But Penelope saw the look of strain in her face. Very deliberately she
divested herself of her hat and coat and sat down.

"Tell me about it," she said practically. "Is it--is it that man?"

A gleam of humour shot across Nan's face, and the painfully set
expression went out of it.

"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "It is 'that man.'"

"Well, what's happened? Surely"--with an accent of reproof--"surely
you've not refused him?"

Nan still regarded her with a faintly humorous smile.

"Do you think I ought not--to have refused him?" she queried.

Penelope answered with decision.

"Certainly I do. You could see--anyone could see--that he cared badly,
and you ought to have choked him off months ago if you only meant to turn
him down at the finish. It wasn't playing the game."

Nan began to laugh helplessly.

"Penny, you're too funny for words--if you only knew it. But still,
you're beginning to restore my self-respect. If you were mistaken in
him, then perhaps I've not been quite such an incredible fool as I
thought."

"Mistaken?" There was a look of consternation in Penelope's honest brown
eyes. "Mistaken? . . . Nan, what do you mean?"

"It's quite simple." Nan's laughter ceased suddenly. "Maryon Rooke has
_not_ asked me to marry him. I've not refused him. He--he didn't give
me the opportunity." Her voice shook a little. "He's just been in to
say good-bye," she went on, after a pause. "He's going abroad."

"Listen to me, Nan." Penelope spoke very quietly. "There's a mistake
somewhere. I'm absolutely sure Maryon cares for you--and cares pretty
badly, too."

"Oh, yes, he