"Keep it forever, if you like. How strange if you should know anything of John Temple!" "There are many strange things in life." "That is true; strange sympathies; strange hidden ties. We are drawn to some people, are we not, and repelled by others? We are wonderful creatures." "Yes," answered Webster, slowly. He was scarcely listening to her; he was still gazing at the photograph he held in his hand, and wondering how he ought to act. "May I ask you a question?" he said, a moment later, looking at Kathleen Weir. "Of course you may." "Where were you married?" "Do you mean in what church?" "I mean in what place. Were you married in London?" "Yes, certainly; I was married in an old city church called St. Jude's. We were married there because it was out of the way, I suppose. John Temple chose the church, and I went and lived a fortnight in the parish before it took place." "And--forgive me--you cared for him then?" "Yes; more fool I! But why do you ask all these questions? You make me curious." At this moment the curtain dividing the two rooms moved, and the beautiful actress, Linda Falconer, stepped between them, followed by her young lover. "We have come to ask you for another song, Kate," said Miss Falconer, languidly. "Dereham, here, is quite enchanted with your voice." "He will not be enchanted any more to-night, then," answered Kathleen Weir; "this man and I," and she nodded at Webster as she spoke, "have been talking of old times, and singing would seem frivolous after our conversation." "Ah! I did not know you knew Mr. Webster long ago." And Miss Falconer rested for a moment her dreamy eyes on Webster's dark face. "I knew him in some spirit-land, I believe," said Kathleen, with a light laugh. "I really feel as if I had known you somewhere else, do you know, Mr. Webster. Where can it have been." "In some spirit-land, perhaps, as you say," answered Webster, with a smile. "But I must go now, and may I really take this photograph with me? I will return it the day after to-morrow." "Take it by all means, and come to supper the day after to-morrow. You may have something to tell me," she added, significantly. "I may; I can not tell. Good-night, Miss Weir." He shook hands with the others after this, and went away carrying the photograph with him. He was now almost convinced that the John Temple who had married May Churchill was the same John Temple who had married Kathleen Weir. If this were so May was not his wife, and Kathleen was! Webster's dark face flushed, and his heart beat faster as he thought of it. But suddenly he remembered May's words about faithfulness in love. Would she change even if she knew the man she had married to be completely unworthy? She might and she might not, and greatly disturbed in mind Ralph Webster returned to his chambers, and when he got there drew out the old photograph and examined again the somewhat faded likeness of the man he had never seen.