"She remembered, François; she remembered that tune." "Oui, M’sieur—she remembered. You must not let her forget again. Monsieur Fordingham is——" He hesitated, and left his sentence unfinished. "Mr. Fordingham is a blackguard," said Hugh, grimly. "And I’m a fool. So between us she hasn’t had much of a show." "Monsieur is going to the Magnificent?" François pulled back his table. "I am, François"—shortly. "Be easy, Monsieur. Be gentle. Don’t hurt her mouth again——" He bowed as was befitting to an old customer. "Good-night, Monsieur. Will you be dining to-morrow?" "That depends, _mon ami_. Perhaps——" "I think you will, M’sieur. At that table——" With a smile he pointed to the usual one. "I will order your dinner myself—for two." *II* It had not occurred to Hugh before; for some reason or other it had not even entered his mind. And then, with a sudden crushing force, the two names leaped at him from the page of the register at the Magnificent, and for the moment numbed him. "Doris Lethbridge," and then, a dozen lines below, "John Fordingham." What a fool, what a short-sighted fool, he was! Good God! did he not know Fordingham’s reputation? And yet, through some inexplicable freak of mind, this development had not so much as crossed his brain. And there had he been sitting at his club for over an hour, in order to ensure seeing the Colt in her room and avoid any chance of having a scene downstairs. Dimly he realized the clerk was speaking. "Number seven hundred and ten, sir; and since you have no luggage, we must ask for a deposit of a pound." "I see," said Hugh, speaking with a sort of deadly calmness, "that a great friend of mine is stopping here—Mr. Fordingham. When—er—did he take his room?" "Mr. Fordingham?" The clerk glanced at the book. "Some time this afternoon, sir. He is upstairs now; would you like me to ring up his room?" "No, thank you; I won’t disturb him at this hour." He pushed a pound note across the desk and turned slowly away. Half unconsciously he walked over to the lift and stepped inside. "Doris Lethbridge—John Fordingham." Oh! dear God! "What number, sir?" The lift-man was watching him a trifle curiously. "Six hundred and ninety-four," said Hugh, mechanically. "No—seven hundred and ten, I mean." "They are both on the same floor," said the man, concealing a smile. At the Magnificent slight confusion as to numbers of rooms was not unknown. "Doris Lethbridge—John Fordingham!" The lift shot up, and still the names danced madly before his eyes. Every pulse in his body was hammering; wave upon wave of emotion rose in his throat, choking him; his mouth seemed parched and dry. "Doris Lethbridge—John Fordingham!" "To the right, sir, for both rooms." The door shut behind him and the lift sank rapidly out of sight. For a moment he stood in the long, deserted passage; then slowly, almost falteringly, he walked along it.