how much it meant, surely she would have made some effort, would not have been content with that half-embarrassed, half-doubtful shake of the head!  In the darkened room, with the throb of the sea and the crackling of the lop in his ears, and only Robert’s silent form for company, he felt a sudden craving for the things of his youth, for another side of life, the restaurants, the bright eyes of women, the whispered words of pleasant sentiment, the perfume shaken into the atmosphere they created, the low music in the background “I beg your pardon, sir,” Robert said in his ear, “your soup.  Gertrude has taken such pains with the dinner, sir,” he added diffidently.  “If I might take the liberty of suggesting it, it would be as well if you could eat something.”  Tallente took up his spoon.  Then they both started, they both turned to the window.  A light had flashed into the room, a low, purring sound came from outside.

“A car, sir!” Robert exclaimed, his face full of pleasurable anticipation.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll answer the door.  Might it be the lady, after all, sir?” He hurried out.  Tallente rose slowly to his feet.  He was listening intently.  The thing wasn’t possible, he told himself.  It wasn’t possible!  Then he heard a voice in the hall.  Robert threw the door open and announced in a tone of triumph—­

“Lady Jane Partington, sir.”

She came towards him, smiling, self-possessed, but a little interrogative.  He had a lightning-like impression of her beautiful shoulders rising from her plain black gown, her delightfully easy walk, the slimness and comeliness and stateliness of her.

“I know that I ought to be ashamed of myself for coming after I had told you I couldn’t,” she said.  “It will serve me right if you’ve eaten all the dinner, but I do hope you haven’t.”

“I had only just sat down,” he told her, as he and Robert held her chair, “and I think that this is the kindest action you ever performed in your life.”

Robert, his face glowing with satisfaction, had become ubiquitous.  She had scarcely subsided into her chair before he was offering her a cocktail on a silver tray, serving Tallente with his forgotten glass, at the sideboard ladling out soup, out of the room and in again, bringing back the rejected bottle of champagne.

“You will never believe that I am a sane person again,” she laughed.  “After you had gone, and all those foolish children had departed, I felt it was quite impossible to sit down and dine alone.  I wanted so much to come and I realised how ridiculous it was of me not to have accepted at once.  At the last moment I couldn’t bear it any longer, so I rushed into the first gown I could find, ordered out my little coupe and here I am.”

“The most welcome guest who ever came to a lonely man,” he assured her.  “A moment ago, Robert was complaining because I was sending my soup away.  Now I shall show him what Devon air can do.”