The glass door down at the other end of the room opened, and the movement there caught my eyes.  A girl came in, alone, and stood still as if looking for someone—­her slender white figure, in its long flowing cloak, clearly outlined against a darker background.  She was alone, and there was nobody to introduce us, no one to tell me who she was, but the beautiful face as so marvellously like one I knew, that I jumped up instantly.  The Boy’s sister!  She must have come, with friends, and be looking for him.  Then, he was here, or would be!

I have a vague remembrance of treading on several trains as I went to meet her, intending to introduce myself, as her brother had not arrived.  The restaurant seemed suddenly to have become a mile long, and she was at the other end of it.  So was I, at last, holding out my hand to the white girl with a large black hat, and diamond pins winking in the curly chestnut hair which they held in place.

She was so astonishingly like him!  Now that I had come closer, the resemblance was incredible.  The hair; the soft oval of the little face; the eyes—­the great, star-eyes!

I forgot everything but that one figure, lily-white, and swaying like a lily, as it stood.  Luckily, there was no one near to see, or think of us.  The diners dined, as if this were an ordinary night, as if there might be other such nights again.

“Who are you?” I said as if in a dream.

A wave of colour swept up from the small, firm chin, to the rings of chestnut hair.  “I—­why, I’m the Boy’s sister,” a low voice stammered.  “He—­sent me.  I’ve a letter from him.  My friends are outside.  They will be here soon, but I—­I came.  You are—­I suppose you are Man——­”

“And I know you are Boy, Boy himself.  I mean, he never was—­for heaven’s sake tell me—­but no, I don’t need to ask.  I’ve got my Little Pal back again, that’s all.”

“Oh, if I’d been sure you would guess—­if I had known you would talk to me like this, I should not have dared to come.”

“Yes, you would.  For you are brave; and you owed me this.”

“I’m ashamed to look you in the face.  What must you think of me?”

“Think?  I’m past thinking.  I’m thanking the gods.  If I could think at all it would be of myself, that I was a fool not to—­and yet, was I a fool?  You were a boy then.  Even the Contessa——­”

“Oh, don’t!  Where can we sit?  I must tell you everything—­explain everything.  I can’t wait.  In a few minutes Molly and Jack will come.”

“Good heavens!”

“Yes.  Didn’t you guess?  I’m the Perpetual Mushroom,—­Mercedes—­Roy—­Laurence.  Oh, Man, Man, how have I dared everything—­and most of all this meeting?  To fight that duel would have been easier.  I think I would never have ventured after all, I would have stayed a Mushroom always, and let the Boy be buried and forgotten; but Molly wouldn’t let me.”

“God bless Molly.”