"They are from Tixover--my father's place. It's near Duddington, on the Northamptonshire border. Do you know that country?" "No," she responded quickly. "But the flowers are delicious." I saw that she had no intention of admitting her visit to Stamford. There was a strange, indescribable fascination about her. She raised her veil, and turning to the mirror re-arranged her hair coquettishly with both her hands. Then, as her deep blue eyes again fell upon me calmly I felt that they penetrated to my very soul. The sunlight struggling through the smoke-dimmed windows fell upon her, enveloping her head in a halo of golden light, while the flashing of gems caught my eyes, and I saw upon her fingers two magnificent rings, one of rubies and the other of diamonds. On the first occasion we had met she had been dressed shabbily, without any display of artistic taste, while to-day she presented a graceful, lady-like appearance, her richness of costume being devoid of that loudness which too often detracts from a woman's natural _chic_. Simes brought in the tea, and seated in my armchair she took her cup and laughed gaily to me as she sipped it, declaring that at the moment we had met she had been contemplating entering a tea-shop, for she could not exist without a cup at four o'clock. The majority of men in London can usually go from luncheon to dinner on a whiskey and soda, but I must confess myself fond of tea. Therefore we took it in company, laughing and chatting the while. She appeared perfectly at ease, and our conversation was that of old acquaintance, until, when Simes had gone, I looked straight into her face, and boldly said-- "Aline, tell me truthfully. Why did you deceive me so?" She met my gaze with a strange, determined look, answering-- "Deceived you! I am not aware that I have done so!" "You told me that you lived with Mrs Popejoy in Hampstead," I said. "And it was the truth. When I told you that, I did live there." That was so. She had spoken the truth, and my accusation was so unjust that I was compelled to mutter an apology. "But many things have occurred since we last met," I went on. "One event especially has happened which has oppressed and utterly bewildered me." "What was that?" "My friend, Roddy Morgan, is dead." "I am aware of that," she responded, her face in an instant deathly pale. Although she possessed powers which no other human being possessed, she nevertheless was now and then unable to control herself sufficiently to preserve a perfect calm. In this alone did she betray that she was, like myself, of the flesh. Yet when I reflected how things withered at her touch, and how objects dissolved as beneath a magician's wand, I had often been inclined to believe that she was the incarnation of the Evil One in the form of a beautiful woman.