voice, "I have a surprise for you."

After dinner, Dominey's guests passed naturally enough to the
relaxations which each preferred. There were two bridge tables,
Terniloff and the Cabinet Minister played billiards, and Seaman, with a
touch which amazed every one, drew strange music from the yellow keys
of the old-fashioned grand piano in the drawing-room. Stephanie and her
host made a slow progress through the hall and picture gallery. For some
time their conversation was engaged solely with the objects to which
Dominey drew his companion's attention. When they had passed out of
possible hearing, however, of any of the other guests, Stephanie's
fingers tightened upon her companion's arm.

"I wish to speak to you alone," she said, "without the possibility of
any one overhearing."

Dominey hesitated and looked behind.

"Your guests are well occupied," she continued a little impatiently,
"and in any case I am one of them. I claim your attention."

Dominey threw open the door of the library and turned on a couple of the
electric lights. She made her way to the great open fireplace, on which
a log was burning, looked down into the shadows of the room and back
again at her host's face.

"For one moment," she begged, "turn on all the lights. I wish to be sure
that we are alone."

Dominey did as he was bidden. The furthermost corners of the room, with
its many wings of book-filled shelves, were illuminated. She nodded.

"Now turn them all out again except this one," she directed, "and wheel
me up an easy-chair. No, I choose this settee. Please seat yourself by
my side."

"Is this going to be serious?" he asked, with some slight disquietude.

"Serious but wonderful," she murmured, lifting her eyes to his. "Will
you please listen to me, Leopold?"

She was half curled up in a corner of the settee, her head resting
slightly upon her long fingers, her brown eyes steadily fixed upon her
companion. There was an atmosphere about her of serious yet of tender
things. Dominey's face seemed to fall into more rigid lines as he
realised the appeal of her eyes.

"Leopold," she began, "I left this country a few weeks ago, feeling that
you were a brute, determined never to see you again, half inclined to
expose you before I went as an impostor and a charlatan. Germany
means little to me, and a patriotism which took no account of human
obligations left me absolutely unresponsive. I meant to go home
and never to return to London.