"No. They're not related." As Annesley returned in thought to the Mr. Smith who had thrown her over, she took from her bodice the white rose which was to have identified her for him, and found it a place in the vase with the other white roses. She had a special reason for doing this. The real Mr. Smith, if by any chance he appeared now, would be a complication. Without the rose he could not claim her acquaintance. "Why do you do that?" her companion broke the thread of his questioning to ask. The girl was tempted to tell some easy fib that the rose was faded, or too fragrant; but somehow she could not. They both seemed so close to the deep-down things of life at this moment that to speak the truth was the one possible thing. "I arranged to wear a white rose for Mr. Smith to recognize me. We--have never seen each other," she confessed. "Yet you say there's nothing interesting in your life!" "It's true! _This_ thing was--was dreadful. It could happen only to a girl whose life was not interesting." "Now I understand why you put away the rose--for my sake, in case Mr. Smith should turn up, after all. Will you give it to me? I won't flaunt it in my buttonhole. I'll hide it sacredly, in memory of this evening--and of you. Not that I shall need to be reminded of anything which concerns this night--you especially, and your generosity, your courage. But it may be that the men I spoke of won't find me here. If they don't, the worst of your ordeal is over. It will only be to finish dinner, and let me put you into a taxi. To-morrow you can think that you dreamed the wretch who appealed to you, and be glad that you will never see him again." Annesley selected her white rose from its fellows, dried its stem daintily with her napkin, and gave the flower to "Mr. Smith." Already it looked refreshed, as she herself felt refreshed, after five years of "stuffiness," by these few throbbing moments. Their hands touched, and through Annesley's darted a little tingle of electricity that flashed up her arm to her heart, where it caught like a hooked wire. She was surprised, almost frightened by the sensation, and ashamed because she didn't find it disagreeable. "It must be that people who're really _alive_, as he is, give out magnetism," she thought. And the thrill lingered as the man thanked her with eyes and voice. When he had looked at the rose curiously, as if expecting to learn from it the secret of its wearer, he put the flower away in a letter-case in an inner breast pocket of his coat. For once Annesley was face to face with romance, and even though she would presently go back to the old round (since the adventure she came out to meet had failed), she was stirred to a wild gladness in this other adventure. The _hors d'oeuvres_ appeared; then soup, and wine, which Mr. Smith begged her to taste. "Drink luck for me," he insisted. "You and you alone can bring it." Annesley drank. And the champagne filliped colour to her cheeks.