The dusk was falling when she got down at Trafalgar Square, where she crossed to the hotel entrance at Charing Cross. It is always busy there, arrivals and departures taking place at all hours of the day and night. A four-wheeler, piled high with luggage, stood before the door, and a tall man in a long travelling-coat with a fur collar was directing the hotel porter what he wished to be done with the larger boxes. He turned his head as Isla was about to pass in, and he found herself face to face with Peter Rosmead. It was a supreme moment for them both. All Rosmead’s heart leaped to his eyes, he dropped his dispatch-case, and grasped both her hands while his gaze covered her with an overmastering and encompassing tenderness. "This is a bit of God’s own luck!" he said, and his voice was thick with the passion of his soul. "How is it you are here?" "I came from Nice only to-day. I am going home to Glenogle to-morrow," she answered, and her voice had a faint, far-away sound in it, as if she suddenly felt very tired. "And you?" "Just arrived by the Norddeutscher-Lloyd steamer at Southampton at noon to-day. Are you here alone for the night?" She inclined her head. "It’s God’s own luck," he repeated. "You’ll dine with me, then--in half an hour or an hour, or at any time that you choose to name?" She hesitated just a moment. Should she refuse? But why? In another day it would be all over. Only the present hour was hers. She nodded and sped from him quickly, ascending to her room on the third floor by the lift. When she entered it she turned the key and looked round a little wildly, working her hands in front of her nervously. Then, with a sob, she threw herself face downwards on the bed and buried her face. She wanted to weep, but a song was in her heart, because, though she was pledged to marry Neil Drummond and was bound to him by every tie of gratitude and honour, she belonged to Peter Rosmead and he to her, and nothing could alter it. For the moment she, who had had so little of the joy of life, gave herself up to the vision of the might-have-been. And it was so glorious that it transformed the bleak hotel bedroom into a heavenly place. After a long time, when she had risen and was making her toilet, there came a quick tap at the door. When she opened it a chambermaid stood without, smiling. "Please, Miss, can I help you? The gentleman is waiting, and dinner is served in eighty-nine." CHAPTER XXVIII WITH HASTENING FEET Because this was her hour and to-morrow all would be over, Isla did not disdain a woman’s art. She wished to look beautiful for once in the eyes of the man who loved her, even though she should henceforth disappear from them for ever.