For a moment her back was to the road. She did not see a man riding toward her, and turned with a real start, to discover Miles Cylmer on a big chestnut horse within ten yards of her. The sunlight fell on his handsome, hard face, his tawny mustache, his splendid figure in his red coat and white riding-breeches. The sight of him brought dismay to Ismay’s heart. She forgot all she had meant to say in sheer foolish excitement at seeing him. “I--I can’t get down,” she said childishly. Cylmer stopped his horse and sat staring at her in utter amazement. Who was this who sat on his wall like a lovely nymph, her water-green eyes on his, her flaxen hair glinting like barley in the sun? There flashed up before him the lights of the Palace Theater, a slim girl in black who was hungry. “I beg your pardon,” he stammered in his surprise. Could there be two girls in the world with such scarlet lips and strange eyes, for surely this could not be the lonely girl he had taken home that night? How could she get here? Ismay Trelane smiled in his perplexed face that slow, witch-smile that was her best weapon. “Don’t you know me, Mr. Cylmer? I know you, you see, and--please take me down!” She held out her hands entreatingly. Cylmer, like a man in a dream, swung himself off his horse and slipped his arm through the reins. He had seen Cristiane at the meet, lovely in her blue habit, had ridden up to greet her, and been smartly snubbed for his pains. Somehow it had stung unbearably. And the joy on the face of the girl he had never thought to see again was like balm to his wounds. Ismay, seated on the wall, leaned down and gave him both hands; her eyes met his, strange and deep, with something in them that brought the blood to his face. “I told you we should meet again!” she cried, with soft delight in her voice. “Are you glad to see me?” Cylmer lifted her down, setting her safely clear of his fretting horse. Her queer beauty dazzled him. “Very glad,” he answered slowly. For the first time in her life Ismay Trelane’s eyes fell before the look of other eyes. Cylmer stooped and kissed her lips. * * * * * For a moment the whole world swung dizzily to Ismay Trelane. A golden mist blotted out the bare trees and ivied walls; a sound as of many waters was in her ears. She staggered helplessly, and from far, far away heard a voice that was very low and pitiful. “My little girl, don’t look like that. I was a brute! Did I frighten you?” Was it fright that made her feel her own blood running in her veins? She did not know. With a sharp wrench she was clear of him, and stood leaning against his horse’s shoulder, her breath coming fast and hard. Cristiane would have stamped her foot at him. Ismay only looked him full in the face. “Why did you do that?” she said quietly, though her hand went to her breast as if something hurt her. Cylmer bit his lip.