It was dark when she departed. Geoffrey lit no lamp; but after locking his door, he sat for many hours with his head on his hands; and everywhere, standing forth against the gloom, he saw her slender supple figure, her fascinating wayward face: the changes of her voice murmured in his ears; and the desire of her ruled his heart and mind. * * * * * It was not with the feelings of a triumphant lover, proud to exhibit his mistress to envious eyes, that Geoffrey Herne presented himself, with the girl he was to marry, at Ellice's apartments the next day. Not that Gertrude Hamilton was in any respect a bride to be ashamed of. She was handsome, wholesome, and serene; full of kindliness and common sense; pure in thought and upright in deed. She had given her whole honest love to Geoffrey, moreover; and having done so, she had as little thought of changing as the moon has of ceasing to be the earth's satellite. So short a time ago as yesterday forenoon, Geoffrey had seen his way to a life of sober happiness with her; but now he could only think, 'She is not Ellice'; and he shunned to meet her quiet, confident look, and could not respond frankly to her conversational advances. He felt himself a cheat; and inwardly kept repeating to himself the ominous question: 'How will it end? How will it end?' Mrs. Amidon received her guests with a charm of cordiality that at once produced a favourable impression upon Gertrude. She was dressed in a flowing tea-gown of some oriental stuff which became her especially well; there was colour in her cheeks, and her manner varied between languor and what seemed restrained excitement; but a certain rare feminine sweetness pervaded all. On the table by her side was a silver salver, holding a decanter of wine and three glasses. These glasses, which had already been filled to the brim with wine, were of Venetian design, each one of a pattern different from the others. The room was in half light and furnished sumptuously. Ellice addressed almost all her questions and remarks to Gertrude; never meeting the latter's eyes, but occasionally glancing at her with great keenness. To Geoffrey she scarcely spoke; and when he addressed her, she would reply to him, as it were, through Gertrude. Geoffrey had noticed that she had avoided shaking hands with either of them at meeting; and, as he sat observing her, the fantasy now and then seized him that she was not a tangible human being of flesh and blood, but a beautiful wraith. There was a refinement and a sensitiveness in her gesture and aspect as of one who could scarcely have part in the vain, self-seeking world: and yet what an odd commentary upon this appearance her actual life (as far as one could know it) had been! After a while she said, rising, and speaking with more vivacity than she had shown before: 'Now I am going to ask you both to take a glass of wine with me.'