No; she was going to do no such thing. She was going to wait just where she was with folded hands and eager love. When Gaston came he should decide things. She would not interfere with her future. She would hide nothing; neither would she disclose anything. Why should she strangle her own life, with the knowledge she had neither sought nor desired? The brilliant afternoon sun crept toward the west, and it shone into the side window and through the screen of splendid fuchsias which clambered from sill to top of casement. Gaston might come--now! Perhaps he had failed to locate Jude, and would return to consider. Well, then, she could put him on Jude's trail. Gaston, not she, should meet the "woodsman" in Lola Laval's deserted house. In the sudden up-springing of this hope, Joyce quite forgot the face of the woman at the bungalow. A freakish yearning to reproduce the one crowning moment of her life possessed the girl. She would build a great fire upon the hearth, and make the room beautiful. She would don--the yellow gown, and, if he came, he should find her as he had left her. If he still loved her--and she saw it in his eyes--then nothing, nothing should part them. She would go with him to Lola's house and together they would finish the dreary search. She would beg him never to return to St. Ange. What did the world matter, the people of the world? Nothing mattered but him and her. So Joyce flew to the bidding of her mad fancy. She drew the shades and flung on log after log. She swept and dusted the room. Put Gaston's slippers and house-coat close to the warmth. She lighted the lamp to keep up the delusion, then stole to her room and made ready. Again, as the garments of the daily task fell from her, Joyce felt the sordidness and fearsomeness depart. The lovely hair lent itself to the pretty design, and the golden gown transfigured the wearer. She felt sure Gaston was coming. The premonition grew and grew. He would never leave her to bear the Christmas alone. He might return later to search for Jude but, remembering her in the shack, he would come to her for that one, holy day. He would surprise her. And she?--why, she would surprise him. How he would laugh and take her in his arms!--for it was all clear ahead of them now. She would lead him to Jude! A knock at the outer door startled her. She was about to leave her bedchamber complete and beautiful--but the summons stayed the little satin-shod feet, and the colour left the quivering face. Perhaps Gaston had knocked to keep up the conceit of his home-coming surprise! Tiptoeing across the living room, Joyce took her stand by the table and called timidly, expectantly and awesomely: "Come." The latch lifted and some one pressed against the door, and then, in walked Ruth Dale. She wore the heavy crimson cloak of Constance's, the fur-trimmed hood of which encircled her face.