“Put your hat on, Eleanor, and deliver this letter to the Marble Arch Hotel. Take a taxi.” “Yes, madam,” said Eleanor in surprise. “Ask to see Mr. Dempsi.” Diana made an attempt to be unconcerned, and failed dismally. “If he kisses the letter, or anything like that--you mustn’t be surprised. He is very impulsive: he might even kiss you,” she added. Eleanor stiffened. “Indeed, miss?” “He won’t mean anything by it.” Diana was tremulously diplomatic. “He always kisses people when he sees them. I--I shouldn’t be surprised if he kissed me when he calls--we’re old friends, and people do that sort of thing in--in Australia.” “Indeed, madam?” said Eleanor, her interest in the British Empire awakened. “I’m afraid Mr. Selsbury wouldn’t understand,” Diana went on lightly. “Men are rather narrow. If you told him----” “I should never dream of telling Mr. Selsbury, madam,” said Eleanor indignantly. The girl came in dressed before she went. “I beg your pardon, Miss Ford, but it has just occurred to me,” she said hesitantly. “If this foreign gentleman should kiss me, might I be bold enough to ask you not to mention it to Trenter?” “You may rely on me, Eleanor,” said Diana firmly. “We women must stand together.” She watched the girl through the window till she was out of sight, then flopped back in her chair. The papers stood in a rack at her hand, unopened, unread. She reached out and found one, but there was no drama that could quite over-shadow that which was being played out in her heart. She heard a tap and looked round. It was not at the door; it seemed to be at the stained-glass window. There was a little window square, level with the ledge, which could be opened and closed as a casement, and against this she saw the shadow of a head, and, with her heart thumping wildly, walked across the room. “Who is there?” she asked. Then came a voice that chilled her to the marrow. “Don’t you know me, beloved?” “Mr. Dempsi!” she gasped. “You mustn’t come here, really you mustn’t! My--my Uncle Isaac isn’t at home, and I can’t receive you.” With an effort of will she jerked open the window and looked down upon a bearded face and eyes that shone. A wide-brimmed sombrero at the back of his head; hanging from his shoulders, a long black cape. He might have stepped from an opera. “I--I can’t see you now, really I can’t! Won’t you call next Wednesday week?” So that was Dempsi! She remembered dimly some resemblance to the bare-faced boy she had known. Perhaps that wild glitter of eye, that furious gesticulation. “Diana,” he breathed, “I’ve come back from the grave to claim you!” “Yes, yes, but not now,” she said, in an agony of apprehension. “Go back to your grave till three o’clock. I’ll see you then.”