es from the police. From the police, don't forget,
Harris."

"I'll not forget, sir."

"And go now. When the ladies come, I'll open the door."

As it happened, only shadows came. The shadows lengthened. They lapped
the floor, devoured the silver, turned the rug into a pit, the room into
darkness. Apart from shadows, no one came, no one rang. But, though
Lennox was unaware of it, two people did come, and of the two one would
have rung, had not the other prevented.

Lennox did not know that. On the inaccessible planes where events are
marshalled, it was perhaps prearranged that he should not.

VII

Margaret, on her way to Lennox that afternoon, wondered whether it might
not be possible for them to live elsewhere.

Born and bred in the sordid hell with a blue sky that New York was
before the war, latterly the sky itself had darkened. The world in which
she moved, distressed her. Its parure of gaiety shocked. Those who
peopled it were not sordid, they were not even blue. Europe agonised and
they dined and danced, displayed themselves at the opera, summarised the
war as dreadful, dismissed it, gossiped and laughed. It was that
attitude which distressed this girl who, had she been capable of wishing
ill to any one, might have wished them treated as were the elegantes of
Brussels.

Margaret had no such evil wish. But she did hope that when married, she
might reside elsewhere.

"There goes that Mrs. Tomlinson," said her mother. "Last night at the
Bazaar--what do you suppose? She asked me to dinner. She actually did!
The woman must be mad."

Margaret made no reply. Park Avenue was very bright. To her also for the
moment the scientific savagery of the Huns was remote. The brightness of
the April day was about her.

"I am in rags," continued Mrs. Austen, who was admirably dressed. "On
Monday I must really look in on Marguerite. She is an utter liar, but
then you feel so safe with her. Where is it that your young man lives?
Somebody said that lies whiten the teeth. It must be there, isn't it? Or
is it here? These places all look alike, none of them seems to have any
numbers and that makes it so convenient."

They had reached a chalk cliff, on the face of which were windows,
balconies and, at the base, two low steps. On the upper step, in large
black letters, was the cliff's name.

Through glasses, which she did not need, Mrs. Austen surveyed it. "The
Sandringham! Why not The Throne?"

Margaret went on and