Swept away by the whole-heartedness of his welcome he went forward swiftly and had her in his arms, but his first touch was enough; she shrank back with a half-articulate cry of surprise and thrust him from her by force. "Aura!" he said almost incredulously, "and you sounded--so--so glad." "I thought--I thought you were Ted," she explained with a little sob. "I've been expecting him so long, you see." "Ted!" he echoed, "you have been expecting him? I don't understand." "No," she replied hurriedly in a low voice. "Of course, I forgot you couldn't." There was a faint pause, then she collected herself. "We--we were married----" This time the pause remained unbroken until coolly, almost sarcastically, the question came. "You were married! May I ask--when?" The darkness of those drawn down blinds was in a way a godsend to them both. It hid all expression, and it seemed to Ned Blackborough in his incredulous dismay as if he were speaking to a disembodied spirit; was he also, by some chance, a disembodied spirit? "I--I don't remember," came her voice, all strained and curiously weary. "Oh, yes; of course I do. It was on the 14th of February." She was just beginning to remember dates, and to recollect that this must be the 1st of March. Everything seemed to have been blotted out by her grandfather's sudden death two days before, and the impossibility of getting any answer to her telegram from Ted, Ted on whom she had learnt to rely. Ned laughed suddenly. "St. Valentine's Day," he echoed. "So I sent you my valentine as a wedding present. If I had only known, I mightn't have taken so much--trouble--to send it off. I expect I was pretty near death when you were getting married, young lady, and I compliment you on the quickness----" "But we were engaged, quite a long time before," she said in idle protest, for something in her seemed hammering at her head, beating into it the knowledge that she had been mean. Once more he laughed. "May I ask how long?" "On--on New Year's Day." He could scarcely hear what she said. "On New Year's Day," he echoed incredulously, "impossible!" Then the conviction that, if this were so, Ted Cruttenden had--well! almost lied to him came to rouse his anger to the uttermost, and he strode towards her shadow. "But this is foolishness," he exclaimed, "You know you love me--you know you do----" "Hush!" she cried, interrupting his swift rise in tone, "Remember, please, that my grandfather lies dead upstairs." "Dead!" he said stupidly after a pause, "Dead! I--I didn't know. I--I am very sorry." The conventional words of sympathy came slowly as he stood, feeling baulked indescribably, done out, as it were, of his just claim to anger.