Julie heard him through, and it was well that before the end he did not see her eyes.  Then she moved her other hand which held the half-burnt cigarette and dropped the smoking end (so that it made a little hiss) into her teacup on the glass-topped table, and brought her hand back, and caressed his hair as he lay bent forward there.  “Dear old Peter,” she said tenderly, “how he thinks things!  And when you saw this—­this love, Peter, how did you feel?”

He did not answer for a minute, and when he did he did not raise his head.  “Oh, I don’t know, Julie,” he said.  “It went through and through me.  It was like a big sea, and it flooded me away.  It filled me.  I seemed to drink it in at every pore.  I felt satisfied just to be there.”

“And then you came back to Julie, eh, Peter?” she questioned.

“Why, of course,” he said, sitting up with a smile.  “Why not?” He gave a little laugh.  “Why, Julie,” he said, “I never thought of that before.  I suppose I ought to have been—­oh, I don’t know, but our days together didn’t seem to make any difference.  That Love was too big.  It seemed to me to be too big to be—­well, jealous, I suppose.”

She nodded.  “That would be just it, Peter.  That’s how it would seem to you.  You see, I know.  It’s strange, my dear, but I don’t feel either—­jealous.”

He frowned.  “What do you mean?” he said.  “Don’t you understand?  It was God’s Love that I saw.”

She hesitated a second, and then her face relaxed into a smile.  “You’re as blind as a bat, my dear, but I suppose all men are, and so you can’t help it.  Now go and ring for breakfast and smoke a cigarette in the sitting-room while I dress.”  And Peter, because he hated to be called a bat and did not feel in the least like one, went.

He rang the bell, and the maid answered it.  She did not wait for him to give his order, but advanced towards him, her eyes sparkling.  “Oh, sir,” she said, “is madame up?  I don’t know how to thank her, and you too.  I’ve wanted a frame for Jack’s picture, but I couldn’t get a real good one, I couldn’t.  When I sees this parcel I couldn’t think what it was.  I forgot even as how I’d give the lady my name.  Oh, she’s the real good one, she is.  You’ll forgive me, sir, but I know a real lady when I see one.  They haven’t got no airs, and they know what a girl feels like, right away.  I put Jack in it, sir, on me table, and if there’s anything I can do for you or your lady, now or ever, I’ll do it, sir.”

Peter smiled at the little outburst, but his heart warmed within him.  How just like Julie it was!  “Well,” he said, “it’s the lady you’ve really to thank.  Knock, if you like; I expect she’ll let you in.  And then order breakfast, will you?  Bacon and eggs and some fish.  Thanks.”  And he turned away.

She made for the door, but stopped, “I near forgot, sir,” she said.  “A gentleman left this for you last night, and they give it to me at the office—­this morning.  There was no answer, he said.  He went by this morning’s train.”  She handed Peter an unstamped envelope bearing the hotel’s name, and left the room as he opened it.  He did not recognise the handwriting, but he tore it open and glanced at once at the signature, and got a very considerable surprise, not to say a shock.  It was signed “Jack Donovan.”