She was indeed unpleasantly surprised when, a few moments later, there was a knock upon the door at the foot of her bed; and when she had put on a dressing gown the door opened suddenly, and there stood Rita Cheyne herself, smiling confidently and asking admittance. Camilla was perturbed—so much so, in fact, that no words occurred to her. The door had opened outward toward Rita Cheyne, who held its knob. It was, therefore, obviously impossible for Camilla to close it without Mrs. Cheyne’s assistance. This, it seemed, the visitor had no intention of giving, for she came forward on the door-sill and held out her hand. "Mrs. Wray," she said gently, "I want to come in and talk to you. May I?" "This is—rather surprising," Camilla began. "Yes," she admitted, "it is. Perhaps I’m a little surprised, too. I—I wanted to talk to you. There are some things—important things——" By this time Camilla had managed to collect her scattered resources. "I’m not sure," she said coolly, "that our friendship has ever been intimate enough to warrant——" Rita put one hand up before her. "Don’t, Mrs. Wray! It hasn’t. But you’ll understand in a moment, if you’ll let me come in and talk to you." Camilla drew her laces around her throat and with a shrug stood aside. "I hope you’ll be brief," she said coldly. "Will you sit down?" But Mrs. Cheyne had already sat in a chair with her back to one of the windows, where her face was partially obscured by the shadows of her hair. She pulled her kimono about her figure, clasped her fingers over her knees, and leaned forward, eagerly examining her companion, who had seated herself uneasily upon the side of the bed. "You _are_ handsome!" she said candidly, as if settling a point in her own mind which had long been debatable. "I don’t think I ever saw you handsomer than you are at the present moment. Trouble becomes you, it gives a meaning to the shadows of your face which they never had before." Camilla started up angrily. "Did you come here to comment upon my appearance?" "No," said Rita suavely. "I can’t help it—that’s all. Did you know that you have been the means of destroying one of my most treasured ideals? You have, you know. I’ve always scoffed at personal beauty—now I remain to pray. It’s a definite living force—like politics—or like religion." "Really, Mrs. Cheyne——!" "Please let me talk—you would if you only knew what I’m going to say. My remarks may seem irrelevant, but they’re not. They’re a confession of weakness on my part—an acknowledgment of strength on yours. You never liked me from the first, and I don’t think I really was very fond of you. We seemed to have been run in different moulds. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t have got along because—well, you know I’m not half bad when one really knows me; and you!—you have everything that most people like—you’re beautiful, cultured, clever and—and quite human."