He had not seen her for five years, and as he stood there another man lounged up and spoke to him. "Looking at _la belle Philomèle_?" he said; "she's quite the rage, you know. Ever heard her sing? You're only just back from the wilds, aren't you? Oh, well, of course you'll go to St. James's Hall to-morrow? She's going to sing, you know. Her voice is splendid. I never go to hear her myself--makes me feel I'm a miserable sinner somehow--does, 'pon my word. I've heard her twice, and then I dropped it. Don't like feeling small, you know." He lounged away again, and the man with the cynical eyes still watched her. Her head was turned away from him--only a soft, fair cheek and little ear nestling in a soft mass of hair, a white throat, and a lot of pale chiffon and silk, could he see. And suddenly the cheek and even neck were flooded with a red blush, and then they looked whiter than before. He wondered, and smiled bitterly as he did so. And the girl's eyes remained fixed, eager, fascinated, on the long looking-glass before her. But she was not looking at herself. Afterwards he sought her. "You were wise," he said mockingly, and her eyes grew dark with pain. He took the seat beside her and played with the costly fan he had picked up. [Illustration: "You were wise," he said, mockingly.] "I must congratulate you," he said indifferently. "This"--with a comprehensive wave towards her dress and the diamonds at her throat--"is better than the old days." "Yes." "But perhaps you have forgotten so long as--what is it?--ten--no, five years ago?" "No." He furled and unfurled the fan in silence, and wondered who had given her the Parma violets in her hair. "Your--book?" she said timidly. He stared at her blankly. She reddened slowly. "You--you--were going to--to travel, and write about it--strange places----" she faltered. "Oh, ah! yes, I believe I was--five years ago." Her face was white again now. "You _have_ travelled?" she ventured at last. "Oh, yes! I've done nothing else for five years. I've shot tigers, bears--I've lived with Chinamen and negroes--chummed with cannibals once--oh!"--with a laugh--"I've had a fine time!" Her eyes were wistful. Her hostess brought up a man to be introduced, and when she turned again, the chair was empty. She did not see him again for two weeks. There was an added pathos in the beautiful voice. _La belle Philomèle_ brought tears to many thousands of eyes, but her own were dry and restless. It was dawning on her that she had made a mistake--five years ago. "Seen Hugh Hawksleigh?" she heard one man say to another. "Never been so disappointed in a chap in my life. Years ago he promised great things. Those articles of his on 'Foreign Ways and Doings' made quite a sensation, you know. And there was some talk of wild travels and a book that was going to be _the_ book of the day. The travels are all right, but where's the book?"