"Who is that woman? Tell me! I've been longing for your coming, thinking of all that I should say to you, wishing that the minutes were but seconds--and you've been here all the time! You must have come hours before you told me that your train was due. What is the meaning of it all?" "That is precisely what I should like to know." "I came out here that I might be alone before our meeting. I heard the sound of voices, and I thought that one of them was yours--I could not believe it. I listened. I heard you talking to that woman. I saw her kiss you. Oh, Cecil! Cecil! my heart is broken!" She tottered forward, all but falling into Hubert's arms. He tried to soothe her. _Sotto voce_ he told himself that Cecil had more romance in his nature than he had given him credit for. His complications in the feminine line appeared to be worthy of the farces at the Palais Royal. In the midst of her emotion, the young lady in his arms continued to address him. "Why--did you--tell me--you were coming--by one train--when--all the time--you must have meant--to come by another. I--have your letter here----" From the bosom of her dress she drew an envelope. Hubert made a dash at it. "My letter? Permit me for an instant!" With scant ceremony he took it from her hand. He glanced at the address--recognising Cecil's well-known writing. "Miss--Miss Danvers! Are you--are _you_--Miss Danvers?" The girl shrank from him. Her tears were dried. Her face grew white. "Cecil!" she exclaimed. "Forgive me if my question seems a curious one, but--_are_ you Miss Danvers?" The girl shrank away still more. Her face grew whiter. She spoke so faintly her words were scarcely audible. "Cecil! Give me back my letter, if you please!" He handed her back her envelope. "Miss Danvers, I entreat you----" But the look of scorn which was on her face brought even Hubert to a standstill. As he hesitated, she "fixed him with her eyes." He had seldom felt so uncomfortable as he did just then. He seemed to feel himself growing smaller simply because of the scorn which was in her glance. "Good evening, _Mister_ Buxton." She slightly inclined her head--and was gone. Hubert stared after her dumfounded. When he did recover the faculty of speech he hardly knew what use to make of it. "Well--I've done it! If _she's_ Miss Danvers--_who_ is 'Angel?' Cecil will thank me for the treat which I'm preparing for him. I knew this fatal likeness would dog me to the grave. Why was I born a twin?" He strolled slowly toward the building. As he entered the hall a lady was coming along the corridor. At sight of him she quickened her pace. She advanced to him with outstretched hands. She was a lady of perhaps forty years of age. "Cecil!" she cried. But Hubert was not to be caught with salt. He had had enough, for the present, of Cecil and--of Cecil's feminine friends. Ignoring her outstretched hands, he slightly raised his hat. "Pardon me, you have the advantage of me, Madame."