Mallory’s eyes followed her thoughtfully.  He had already surmised that Maryon Rooke was the sender of the telegram, and he could see how unmistakably his sudden reappearance had shaken her.  He felt baffled.  Did the man still hold her?  Was all the striving of the last few months to prove useless?  Those long hours of self-effacement when he had tried by every means in his power to restore Nan to a normal interest in life, to be the good comrade she needed at no matter what cost to himself, demanding nothing in return!  For it had been a hard struggle to be constantly with the woman he loved and yet keep himself in hand.  To Mallory, Rooke’s return seemed grotesquely inopportune.

He was roused from his thoughts to the realisation that people were leaving.  Everyone appeared to be talking at once and the air was full of the murmur of wins and losses and of sharp-edged criticism of “my partner’s play.”  Maryon Rooke alone showed no signs of moving, but remained standing a little apart near the window, an unlit cigarette in his hand.

“Penelope, do come back to Green Street with me.”  Kitty’s voice was beseeching.  “My little milliner was to have had a couple of hats ready for me this afternoon, which means she will arrive with a perfect avalanche of boxes, each containing a dinkier hat than the last, and I shall fall a helpless victim.”

Her husband grinned unkindly.

“Yes, do come along, Penny,” he urged.  “Then you can lay a restraining hand on Kitty when she’s bought the first half dozen.”

“There’ll just be time before dinner, and the car shall bring you back again,” entreated Kitty, and Penelope, knowing that the former would be but clay in the practised hands of her “little milliner,” smiled acquiescence.

“Barry”—­Kitty tapped her husband’s arm—­“go down and see if the car is there.  Peter, can I drop you anywhere?”

In a couple of minutes the room was cleared, and Kitty, shepherding her flock before her, departed in a gale of good-byes, leaving Nan and Maryon Rooke together.

Each was silent.  The girl’s small head was thrown back, and in the poise of her slim young body there was a mingling of challenge and appealing self-defence.  She looked like some trapped wild thing at bay.

Slowly Rooke crossed the room and came towards her, and as she met those odd, magnetic eyes of his—­passionately expressive as only hazel eyes can be—­she felt the old fascination stealing over her once more.  Her heart sank.  She had dreaded this, fought against it, and in her inmost soul believed that she had conquered it.  Yet now his mere presence sent the blood racing through, her veins with a hurrying, leaping speed that frightened her.

“Nan!” As he spoke he bent and took her two hands gently into his.  Then, as though the touch of her slight fingers roused some slumbering fire within him, his grasp tightened suddenly.  He drew her nearer, his eyes holding hers, and her slim body swayed towards him, yielding to the eager clasp of his arms.