Almost at the same hour that Clodagh sat down to play cards with Laurence Asshlin at Orristown, Nance was seated with Daisy Estcoit in the lounge of the Carlton. After her sister's departure, Mrs. Estcoit had borne her off to be her guest at the hotel; and now, the little party of four having dined in the restaurant, she had gone to her room to discuss a business letter with her son, leaving the two girls ensconced under one of the big palm-trees. It was very pleasant and interesting to sit there, and watch the groups seated on the low couches beside the little coffee-tables, or to study the throng of people that moved constantly through the large glass doors of the vestibule, and up the flight of shallow steps to the restaurant itself, with its shaded lights and pretty artificial garden. The crowd was unusually large for the time of year: the band was playing a waltz: the whole atmosphere seemed gay and happy to one who only that morning had performed a great act of love. "How lovely life is, Daisy!" Nance said suddenly, unconsciously echoing Clodagh's words on the day of Gore's return to London. Daisy Estcoit laughed. "Of course it is--with a trousseau like yours! But look over there--by the big palm!" Nance had bent to rearrange some roses in her belt. "Where? What?" she said, glancing up. "Don't you see?" "No. What?" "Sir Walter Gore. He just rushed through and into the restaurant. He seems in tremendous haste." "Walter! Where?" Nance looked round eagerly. "I've just told you. In the restaurant. But here he is back again! He must have been looking for some one." Nance rose from the quiet corner in which they were sitting, and stepped forward to greet Gore; but, as he came towards her down the flight of shallow steps, her smile of welcome died, and a look of surprise and concern crossed her eyes. "Walter," she said softly. He looked round at sound of his name. "Oh! Nance!" he said. His manner was as quiet as usual, but he looked like a man who has undergone some great fatigue and has not yet found time to rest. They shook hands in silence, Nance's dark blue eyes scanning his face. "Have you heard from Clo?" she said, at last. "I have. Such a dear letter--written in the train." He flushed. "Yes," he said laconically, "I have heard. But I can't wait to talk about the letter now. I only came here hoping to find a man I know; they told me at his rooms that he was dining here, but 'twas evidently a mistake. I must say good-night!" He held out his hand, and Nance took it mechanically; but as their fingers fell apart, she stepped forward and walked with him resolutely across the lounge. In the vestibule she paused, and compelled him to meet her eyes. "Walter," she said, "something is wrong!" Gore's face hardened. "Nothing is wrong." She tightened her fingers round the fan she was carrying. "That is untrue, Walter." Something in the entire candour of the words touched him. He looked at her with new eyes.