He heard her gay laughter outside, a backward word flung to one of the tennis players, as she stepped in through the window, her cheeks still flushed, and her eyes aglow. "We really ought to watch this set," she declared. "That is, if you are not too much absorbed in my handiwork. What have you got there?" He held it out to her with a valiant attempt at unconcern. "Do you mind telling me who this is?" he asked. She glanced at it carelessly enough, but at once her whole expression changed. The smile left her lips, her eyes filled with trouble. "Where did you find it?" she asked, in a low tone. "In the album," he answered. "It was loose between the pages." She took it gently from his fingers, and crossing the room locked it in her desk. "I had no idea that it was here," she said. "It is a picture of my eldest sister, or rather my step-sister." The change in her manner was so apparent that, under ordinary circumstances, Wrayson would not have dreamed of pursuing the subject. But the conventions of life seemed to him small things just then. "Your step-sister!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea--shall I meet her this afternoon?" "No!" she answered, gravely. "What do you say--shall we go out now?" She took up her racket, but he lingered. "Please don't think me hopelessly inquisitive, Miss Fitzmaurice," he said, "but I have really a reason for being very interested in the original of that picture. I should like to meet your step-sister." "You will never do so here, I am afraid," she answered. "My father and she disagreed years ago. He does not allow us to see or hear from her. We may not even mention her name." "Your father," Wrayson remarked thoughtfully, "is not a stern parent by any means." "I should think not," she answered, smiling. "Dear old dad! I have never heard him say an unkind word to any one in my life." "And yet--" Wrayson began, hesitatingly. "Do you mind if we don't talk any more about it?" she interrupted simply. "I think you can understand that it is not a very pleasant subject. Do you feel like another set, or would you rather do something else?" "Tennis, by all means, if you are rested," he answered. "We will find our old opponents and challenge them again." Wrayson made a supreme effort, and his spirits for the rest of the afternoon were almost boisterous. Yet all the time the nightmare was there behind. It crept out whenever he caught sight of his host moving about amongst his guests, beaming and kindly. His daughter! The Colonel's daughter! What was he to do? The problem haunted him continually. All the time he had to be pushing it back. The guests began to depart at last. By seven o'clock the last carriage was rolling down the avenue. The Colonel, with a huge smile of relief, and a large cigar, came and took Wrayson's arm. "Good man!" he exclaimed. "You've worked like a Trojan. We'll have one whisky and soda, eh? and then I'll show you your room. Say when!"