If she went away Lester would return to his old world, the world of the attractive, well-bred, clever woman who now hung upon his arm. The tears came into Jennie’s eyes; she wished, for the moment, that she might die. It would be better so. Meanwhile Lester was dancing with Mrs. Gerald, or sitting out between the waltzes talking over old times, old places, and old friends. As he looked at Letty he marveled at her youth and beauty. She was more developed than formerly, but still as slender and shapely as Diana. She had strength, too, in this smooth body of hers, and her black eyes were liquid and lusterful. “I swear, Letty,” he said impulsively, “you’re really more beautiful than ever. You’re exquisite. You’ve grown younger instead of older.” “You think so?” she smiled, looking up into his face. “You know I do, or I wouldn’t say so. I’m not much on philandering.” “Oh, Lester, you bear, can’t you allow a woman just a little coyness? Don’t you know we all love to sip our praise, and not be compelled to swallow it in one great mouthful?” “What’s the point?” he asked. “What did I say?” “Oh, nothing. You’re such a bear. You’re such a big, determined, straightforward boy. But never mind. I like you. That’s enough, isn’t it?” “It surely is,” he said. They strolled into the garden as the music ceased, and he squeezed her arm softly. He couldn’t help it; she made him feel as if he owned her. She wanted him to feel that way. She said to herself, as they sat looking at the lanterns in the gardens, that if ever he were free, and would come to her, she would take him. She was almost ready to take him anyhow—only he probably wouldn’t. He was so straight-laced, so considerate. He wouldn’t, like so many other men she knew, do a mean thing. He couldn’t. Finally Lester rose and excused himself. He and Jennie were going farther up the Nile in the morning—toward Karnak and Thebes and the water-washed temples at Phylæ. They would have to start at an unearthly early hour, and he must get to bed. “When are you going home?” asked Mrs. Gerald, ruefully. “In September.” “Have you engaged your passage?” “Yes; we sail from Hamburg on the ninth—the _Fulda_.” “I may be going back in the fall,” laughed Letty. “Don’t be surprised if I crowd in on the same boat with you. I’m very unsettled in my mind.” “Come along, for goodness sake,” replied Lester. “I hope you do.... I’ll see you to-morrow before we leave.” He paused, and she looked at him wistfully. “Cheer up,” he said, taking her hand. “You never can tell what life will do. We sometimes find ourselves right when we thought we were all wrong.” He was thinking that she was sorry to lose him, and he was sorry that she was not in a position to have what she wanted. As for himself, he was saying that here was one solution that probably he would never accept; yet it was a solution. Why had he not seen this years before?