In the hall, however, she did find one more word to say. They were playing Sir Roger in the party-room as I held aside the bead _portière_ for Louie to pass, and the couples, seen through the gauzy hanging, seemed spectrally charming. Louie stood on the other side of the curtain, mortal, unspectral enough under a cheap square hall lamp with tesseræ of coloured glass. With head downhung, she moved spiritlessly towards the outer door, where she stood meditatively with her hand on the letter-box. At last she looked up. "About what you were saying about Miriam Levey," she said, without preface. "I don't think it would do--not now." I knew she meant her own acceptance of Miriam's place. I asked her why not. "Oh, I've said too much for that to be possible now. We've been too near. We mustn't come so near again." "But surely," I said dispiritedly, "a job----" She shook her head. "I should be seeing you," she said. "It wouldn't do. Good-night." And I lost the strains of Sir Roger as the door closed between us. IV Looking back over what I have written, I find it will hasten my tale if I take events with rather a free hand in point of time, sequence and so forth; and I shall do so. For example, the setting up of the Consolidation in Pall Mall did not actually take place until the following spring, but our arrangements were complete long before that time, and, as my tale is about myself rather than about the Consolidation, I will say as much as is necessary about that enterprise now, and have done with it.