Was there a way of love that could survive monotony? Could he ever rely on himself to recognize the "one woman"? Had his "double heart" been the cause of the indecision that beset him?--these swift passions that burned out like straw. Would he ever know the sacred flame? And suddenly the gypsy's words rose up into his mind. "Between two fires you shall burn and burn." ... He felt a thrill of superstition. She had foretold his "golden crown," the fortune "coming over-seas" ... What was it she had prophesied later? He knit his brows, searching his memory. Like a head on a coin, clear and raised, he saw again the swarthy face; he heard the strange pattering voice, felt her warm touch on his hand. "When the light fades ... on the turn of the tide ... there's the Lucky Moon and the Dream of your life...!" The "Dream of his life"? He shook himself as though to break the uncanny spell. "What nonsense it is! I expect she tells the same tale to every man." But he knew in his heart he was not unmoved. There was magic in the chosen words. The Dream of his life...? With wistful eyes he tried in vain to pierce the veil, knowing behind a vision lay, sweet--unguessed--the face of Love. CHAPTER XXIV "Now--what do you think of my Roof Garden?" Lady Leason turned to McTaggart with a conscious air of triumph. "Isn't it nice?--and I planned it myself!" She was like a child with a new toy, her still young face eager and bright under her soft gray hair. "I think it _perfect_," said McTaggart, warmly. He glanced around him as he spoke at the awning, striped with green, the basket chairs, gay red cushions, and the coarse rush matting beneath his feet. For the leaded roof of the smoking-room, that was built out into the garden, had been transformed, with the help of green lattice work and great tubs filled with geraniums and daisies, into a sort of lounge, protected by the striped tent cloth. "I'm growing golden hops in this box at the edge to twine up the supports and along the lattices, and in the Spring I'm going to have no end of bulbs and turn that horrid bank down there into a rockery." She pointed to the patch of discolored grass below them, where a dingy wall completed her small domain. Above it one caught a glimpse of the trees, in the distant Park, and the evening sky, where stars already were beginning to steal out, one by one. "Sit down--both of you"--she turned to her guests. "And talk while I make you some Turkish coffee. Here are some cigarettes--those are cigars..." They settled themselves in the basket chairs, watching their hostess turn up the flame, under the bright copper pan, and measure out the coffee, which filled the air with its fragrance, delicate and refreshing. "Have you seen Mrs. Fleming lately?" The Bishop addressed McTaggart. "I think the last time I met you was at the Cadells' house." "Not for many months," the other replied--"I've been abroad, travelling about. What sort of man is Euan Fleming?"