The place was like Edred. It was a typical place for him to choose: all swagger show, all glitter, very smart and ostentatious, very thin. She dismissed her cab, went up the tesselated steps, consulted the names which were displayed on the wall. The hall porter rang the lift bell. The lift came down. She got in, reclined on the thickly-cushioned back, and watched the floors skim by, dip down. Edred was on the third. She knocked with some trepidation at the extravagantly shaped copper knocker which flaunted itself on a peacock door. A little pert page, all claret cloth and gilt buttons, opened it. She caught her breath at the color and depth of the carpets lying on the stained floor, at great copper bowls and decorative dishes which were disposed on shelves in a room with a half-opened door. “Is Mr. Crisp in?” The little page smiled knowingly; it was a very horrible smile, on such a chubby, child face. He didn’t seem at all surprised at the advent of such a visitor--a handsome woman, young and well dressed. It was evident--her blazing, aching heart told her this--that she was only one of a type. “Mr. Crisp is in, miss. What name?” “Never mind. Tell him an old friend.” He left her in a little ante-room, dainty, extravagant, luxurious, with an oriel window looking over the park. She had composure enough to get up and put her face close to an oval, gilt-framed glass which hung above the hearth. She had hardly turned away when the door opened. With lips parted and hands out she advanced, then fell back as a strange man put his chin and a pair of keen eyes round the lintel. He was a nondescript. She took an instant dislike to the weak face and reedy figure. He was dressed in brown tweed of an ugly herring-bone pattern; he had a thick new watch-chain. She didn’t know who he was, but she instantly hated--and resented--him. He came a little farther into the room, looked at her thoughtfully, critically--as a lady’s-maid might at her lady’s new gown--possibly to be hers some day. Then he, too, grinned. The glance instantly fired her; she looked and almost spoke indignant remonstrance. But the strange man merely grinned again and slipped away. She was left alone. Edred was a very long time. When at last she heard lagging feet, the ball in her throat--of frenzied delight, of trepidation and tumult--nearly choked her. He was faultlessly dressed. He looked prosperous--a bit bored and languid--that was part of his mask--but happy and very much plumper. She fancied that his puffy cheeks detracted from his good looks. He hadn’t missed her. He had left her at Folly Corner--to die if she liked, to do worse--without caring. She struggled up from the extravagantly stuffed divan of figured silk. “Edred!” “By Jove! Pam! You?” She had nervously pulled her gloves off while she waited. His eyes fell to her hands at once. There wasn’t a ring on them. “Whew! He hasn’t found out? The wedding isn’t off?” “Aren’t you glad to see me?”