And Stella, with the young girl's sweet and natural wonder whether she might possibly be one of the million, felt the hot blood rise to neck and cheek. Ashamed, she held her fan before her face and, leaning over the front of the box, watched the shimmering stalls. The play over, they drove home in the magnificent motor-car. Supper awaited them in their sitting-room, where Herold was to join them later. Stella lay back on the luxurious seat, nestling by Lady Blount, languid, with closed eyes. The others, thinking that she was physically fatigued, said little. They did not realize the soul-shaking effect of the revelation of human passion on their pure star of the sea. It was not given them to divine the tempest--such a one, perhaps, as that which rocks the bee on its flower, though a storm all the same--that raged beneath the mask of the delicate face. They thought she was fatigued, and because they loved her they did not weary her with speech. She was indeed tired, desperately tired, by the time they arrived at the hotel. She could scarcely walk up the steps. John supported her to the lift. When they reached their landing, he took her bodily in his arms and carried her down the corridor, Sir Oliver and Lady Blount hurrying on in front, so as to open the sitting-room door and turn on the lights. Stella's head lay on John's shoulder, an arm, for security's sake, instinctively round his neck. The way was long, the lift serving the wing wherein their apartments were situated being out of working order, and John lingered on the delicious journey. “Poor darling! We 've exhausted you,” he whispered. She shook her head and smiled wanly. “It was wonderful.” And after a second she said: “And this is wonderful, too. How strong you are, Belovedest.” “Do you like me to carry you?” She opened her eyes and they looked dreamily into his. He laughed, and bent his head, and kissed her. He had kissed her thousands of times before, but this time her soft lips met his for an instant, and when they parted, her eyes closed again, and she lay back very white in his arms. And John, too, was shaken, and held the delicate body very tight against him and quickened his pace. He laid her gently on a couch in the sitting-room. Lady Blount was all for her going then and there to bed; but she pleaded for a sight of Herold. He came in a few moments afterwards. She roused herself, thanked him in her gracious way for the evening of delight. “To-morrow, dear, I 'll tell you all about it. I am just a little bit dazed now.” “Has it been a great adventure?” he asked, with a laugh. Involuntarily she glanced at John and saw his eyes fixed on her. She flushed slightly. “Perhaps the greatest of all,” she said. The men walked together the common part of their homeward journey. John slipped his arm through his friend's, a rare demonstration of affection. “Wallie, old man,” said he, “I 'm in hell again. I 've got to get out. I must n't see any more of Stella.” “Why not?”