e of his hands, and faced the two with a little excited laugh that
sounded almost hysterical; and Sally noted that her eyes were bright
with tears--of happiness, of course.

"Oh!" she cried, laughing and confused, "is it you, Mrs. Warrenden?
No, please don't run. It's too late now--isn't it--when you've caught
us in the act! You and Mr. Warrenden will be the first to know
of our happiness . . ."

Sally heard no more. The scene vanished from her vision as if the
moonlight had been extinguished. It was some moments before she
realised that she was running madly, as if hoping flight might help
her exorcise that ironic vision. But when she did realise what she was
doing, she but ran the faster; let people think what they would; she
no longer cared; their esteem no more mattered, for she was finished
with them one and all--yes, even with Mrs. Gosnold!

Blindly instinct led her back to her room, again via that side door.

She flung tempestuously into its friendly darkness, locked herself in,
and dropped, spent and racked, upon the edge of the bed, clenching her
hands into two hard, tight fists, gritting her teeth, and fighting
with all her strength to keep back the storm that threatened of sobs
and tears and nervous laughter.

It wasn't as if she had really cared for the man--it was worse. It
was the sum of all the blows her poor, struggling pride had suffered
in the course of the last twenty-four hours, beginning with her
awakening to the worthlessness of Lyttleton and realisation of the low
esteem in which he held her, and culminating in this facer from one
whose love she had refused but none the less prized for the
comfort it gave her.

Nor was this all. In addition to the writhings of an exacerbated
vanity, she was conscious of a sense of personal loss, as if a
landmark had been razed in the perspective of her life. In spite of
those faults and shortcomings, so unduly emphasised through the man's
own deliberate intent and so inexcusable in one who appreciated so
well what was expected of a man in his position, Sally had
subconsciously from the very first felt Trego to be one whose faith
and loyalty were as a rock, whose friendship might be counted upon as
an enduring tower of refuge.

And to have him go from her, protesting passionate patience, leaving
her exalted with the consciousness that she was wanted--to have him go
thus from her and straightway fall into the trap which Mrs. Artemas
unaffectedly baited--the