ro of her dream-romance. He
might have filled the whole of a life that for a year had been empty
and aching; at the lowest computation, their meeting would have been an
experiment in emotion. . . .

Lord Poynter had shambled flat-footedly half-way to the bell, when the
door was thrown open again and the butler announced "Mr. Eric Lane."
There was a tiny stir of interest among those who had not met him and of
surprise among all. Eric's eyes narrowed for a moment under the light of
the chandelier; then he collected himself, swiftly identified Lady
Poynter and shook her hand with a murmur of apology for his lateness.

"But, dear man, we'd given you up!" she exclaimed. "Why did you frighten
us by announcing in the papers that you'd left London? You've not met
Max, have you?"

Eric shook hands with Lord Poynter.

"That was my s-secretary," he explained. Shyness was rushing in waves to
his head, and he could only save himself from disgrace by pretending to
be more icily collected than any one in the room. "I'm f-frightfully
overworked at present with rehearsals and things, so I applied for a
f-fortnight's leave from my department and everybody thinks I'm
f-fishing in Scotland or doing a walking tour on Dartmoor. This party is
my f-final dissipation, Lady Poynter."

He looked round to see with whom he had still to shake hands. As he
began to speak, Barbara had shivered so violently that Mrs. Shelley
turned at the movement; then she tried to remember even seeing his face
as he bent over her in the train and carried her along the platform at
Waterloo. She was paralyzed with dread of the moment when he would
recognize her, for she had nothing adequate to the drama of their
meeting. . . . He shook hands first with those nearest to him, and she
hastened to make a mental picture before he saw that she was watching
him; black hair, a thin face restless with vitality, bloodless lips
tightly shut and eyes that were out of keeping with the assurance of the
face--eyes unexpectedly big and soft, deep in colour and timid in
expression, reminding her of the stammer and quick eagerness of his
speech.

He was shaking hands now with Mrs. Shelley, and Barbara grew rigid with
fear. His face turned, and their eyes met; but he passed on to Gaymer
without recognizing her. She found herself trembling with relief; and
the reaction swept away disappointment and all interest but dislike.
Voice and eyes, movements and manner became hateful to her