them, searched them.

"You are sure, John?" she asked, her voice a little broken. "You want
me really? I am to come? You won't be sorry--afterward?"

"I am sure," he answered steadfastly. "I shall expect you at eight
o'clock!"

* * * * *

John went back to his rooms fighting all the time against a sense of
unreality, a sense almost of lost identity. He bought an evening
newspaper and read it on the way. He talked to the hall-porter, he
talked to a neighbor with whom he ascended in the lift--he did
everything except think.

In his rooms he telephoned to the restaurant for a waiter, and with the
menu in his hand, a few minutes later, he ordered dinner. Then he
glanced at his watch--it was barely seven o'clock. He went down to the
barber-shop, was shaved and had his hair cut, encouraging the barber all
the time to talk to him. He gave his hands over to a manicure, and did
his best to talk nonsense to her. Then he came up-stairs again, changed
his clothes with great care, and went into his little sitting room.

It was five minutes to eight, and dinner had been laid at a little round
table in the center of the room. There was a bowl of pink roses--Sophy's
favorite flower--sent in from the florist's; the table was lighted by a
pink-shaded lamp. John went around the room, turning out the other
lights, until the apartment was hung with shadows save for the little
spot of color in the middle. An unopened bottle of champagne stood in an
ice-pail, and two specially prepared cocktails had been placed upon the
little side-table. There were no more preparations to be made.

John walked restlessly to the window and gazed at the curving line of
lights along the Embankment. This was the end, then--the end of his
strenuous days, the end of his ideals, the end of a love-story which had
made life for a time seem so wonderful! He could hear them talking about
him in a few days' time--the prince's subtle sneer, the jests of his
acquaintances. And Louise! His heart stopped for a moment as he tried to
think of her face when she heard the news.

He turned impatiently away from the window and glanced at the clock. It
was almost eight. He tried to imagine that the bell was ringing, that
Sophy was standing there on the threshold in her simple but dainty
evening dress, with a little smile parting her lips. The end of it all!
He pulled down the blind. No more of the window, no more looking out at
the lights, n