When she had decided to open the latter, and had found the number she wanted, she unhooked the receiver and called for it. After a few minutes somebody said that he was not in his room, but that he was being paged. She waited, dully attentive to the far noises which sounded over the wire; then came a voice: "Yes; who is it?" She said: "I wished to speak to Mr. Bailey--Mr. Clive Bailey." "I am Mr. Bailey." For a moment the fact that she had not recognised his voice seemed to strike her speechless. And it was only when he spoke again, inquiringly, that she said in a low voice: "Clive!" "Yes.... Is--is it _you_!" "Yes." And in the next heavily pulsating moment her breath came back with her self-control: "Why didn't you come, Clive?" "I didn't imagine you wanted me." "I asked Captain Dane to invite you." "Did you know whom you were inviting?" "No.... But I do now. Will you come?" "Yes. When?" "When you like. Come now if you like--unless you were engaged--" "No--" "What were you doing when I called you?" "Nothing.... Walking about the lobby." "Did you find it interesting?" She heard him laugh--such a curious, strange, shaken laugh. She said: "I shall be very glad to see you, Clive. There are some of your friends here, too, who will be glad to see you." "Then I'll wait until--" "No; I had rather meet you for the first time when others are here--if you don't mind. Do you?" "No," he said, coolly; "I'll come." "Now?" "Yes, immediately." Her heart was going at a terrific pace when she hung up the receiver. She went to her mirror, turned on the side-lights, and looked at herself. From the front room came the sound of the dance music, a ripple or two of laughter. Welter's eager voice singing still of arms and the man. Long she stood there, motionless, studying herself, so that, when the moment came that was coming now so swiftly upon her, she might know what she appeared like in his eyes. All, so far, was sheer, fresh youth with her; her eyes had not lost their dewy beauty; the splendour of her hair remained unchanged. There were no lines, nothing lost, nothing hardened in contour. Clear and smooth her snowy chin; perfect, so far, the lovely throat: nothing of blemish was visible, no souvenirs of grief, of pain. And, as she looked, and all the time she was looking, she felt, subtly, that the ordered routine of her thoughts was changing; that a transformation was beginning somewhere deep within her--a new character emerging--a personality unfamiliar, disturbing, as though not entirely to be depended on. And in the mirror she saw her lips, scarcely parted, more vivid than she had ever seen them, and her eyes two wells of azure splendour; saw the smooth young bosom rise and fall; felt her heart, rapid, imperious, beating the "colours" into her cheeks.