was a woman?" I inquired. "One of the women now in
this house?"

He replied reluctantly:

"She was a young woman, and she wore a long cloak. My dream ends there.
I cannot even say whether she was fair or dark."

I recognised that he had reached the limit of his explanations, and,
wringing his hand, I started for the nearest window, which proved to be
that of the music-room. I was about to enter when I saw two women
crossing to the opposite doorway, and paused with a full heart to note
them, for one was Mrs. Lansing and the other Dorothy. The aunt had
evidently come for the niece, and they were leaving the room together.
Not amicably, however. Harsh words had passed, or I am no judge of the
human countenance. Dorothy especially bore herself like one who finds
difficulty in restraining herself from some unhappy outburst, and as she
disappeared from my sight in the wake of her formidable companion my
attention was again called to her hands, which she held clenched at her
sides.

I was stepping into the room when my impulse was again checked. Another
person was sitting there, a person I had been most anxious to see ever
since my last interview with Sinclair. It was Gilbertine Murray, sitting
alone in an attitude of deep, and possibly not altogether happy thought.

I paused to study the sweet face. Truly she was a beautiful woman. I had
never before realised how beautiful. Her rich colouring, her noble
traits, and the spirited air which gave her such marked distinction,
bespoke at once an ardent nature and a pure soul.

I did not wonder that Sinclair had succumbed to charms so pronounced and
uncommon, and as I gazed longer and noted the tremulous droop of her
ripe lips and the far-away look of eyes which had created a great stir
in the social world when they first flashed upon it, I felt that if
Sinclair could see her now he would never doubt her again, despite the
fact that the attitude into which she had fallen was one of great
fatigue, if not despondency.

She held a fan in her hand, and as I stood looking at her she dropped
it. As she stooped to pick it up her eyes met mine, and a startling
change passed over her. Springing up, she held out her hands in wordless
appeal, then let them drop again as if conscious that I would not be
likely to understand either herself or her mood. She was very beautiful.

Entering the room, I approached her. Had Sinclair managed to have his
little conversation with her? Something