th away. She felt
suddenly acutely conscious of the poverty of her travelling clothes, of
her own insignificance.

"Won't you sit down for a moment?" Elizabeth begged, pointing to a chair
by her side. "You and I must be friends, you know, for Philip's sake."

Beatrice recovered herself a little. She sank into the blue satin chair,
with its ample cushions, and looked down at Elizabeth with something very
much like awe.

"I am sure Philip must feel very grateful to you for having taken his
play," she declared. "It has given him a fresh chance in life."

"After all he has gone through," Elizabeth said gently, "he certainly
deserves it. It is a wonderfully clever play, you know ... don't blush,
Mr. Author!"

"I heard the story long ago," Beatrice observed, "only of course it
sounded very differently then, and we never dreamed that it would really
be produced."

"Philip has told me about those days," Elizabeth said. "I am afraid that
you, too, have had your share of unhappiness, Miss Wenderley. I only hope
that life in the future will make up to you something of what you have
lost."

The girl's face hardened. Her lips came together in familiar fashion.

"I mean it to," she declared. "I am going to make a start to-morrow. I
wish, Miss Dalstan, you could get Philip to look at things a little more
cheerfully. He has been like a ghost ever since I arrived."

Elizabeth turned and smiled at him sympathetically.

"Your coming must have been rather a shock," she reminded Beatrice. "You
came with the idea, did you not, that--you would find Mr. Douglas
Romilly?"

The girl nodded and glanced around for the maid, who had disappeared,
however, into an inner apartment.

"They were always alike," she confided,--"the same figures, same shaped
head and that sort of thing. Douglas was a little overfond of life,
though, and Philip here hasn't found out yet what it means. It was a
shock, though, Miss Dalstan. Philip was sitting in the dark when I
arrived at his rooms this evening, and--I thought it was Douglas."

Elizabeth shivered a little.

"Don't let us talk about it," she begged. "You must come and see me,
won't you, Miss Wenderley? Philip will tell you where I live. Are you
going back to England at once?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet," the girl replied, with a slight frown.
"It just depends."

Elizabeth glanced at the little clock upon her table, and Philip threw
away his cigarette and came forward.

"We must go,