“You must understand,” she said, “that Gloria is merely a professional woman, an actress, not an heiress. She has no money except what she earns. One of her husbands gave her the house on Gramercy Park. A year later she married again and when she was divorced from her last husband he settled on her a small income—hardly sufficient to keep up the house when she is not working. If she marries again she loses even that.” She rose to leave him, having finished with her mission, but he caught her hand. “You are speaking the truth, Miss Ruth?” She drew away her hand without answering. “But you? Perhaps you have been helping her?” “I have even less than Gloria.” His amazing lack of finesse—his appalling vulgarity stunned her into making a reply. “There is a train in the morning—” “There is one this afternoon that you can catch if you will hurry. I advise you to take it.” “Thank you, I will—you have saved me a great deal of annoyance. I am grateful—if—” But Ruth did not wait for the end of his remarks. She could not bear to look at him for another second. He was even worse than she had supposed. Evidently he had not cared for Gloria at all, and she had always conceded to him that much—that Gloria had touched some one small bit of fineness in his sordid nature. She dared not return to Gloria just then, for she knew that Gloria in her usual frank manner had doubtless told Angela of her changed plans; even now Angela might be protesting with her and urging her not to dispose of a real title so carelessly. Even without the title Angela would not approve of the broken engagement, for it had been announced in her house; therefore, she had, in a way, been sponsor for it, and would want to see it go through to a successful conclusion. She made her way to the enclosed veranda where she had kept her rendezvous with Pendragon on the afternoon of her arrival. It was quite deserted now, but far out on the crest of one of the near hills she saw a moving, black splotch against the snow that as she watched gradually resolved itself into three figures—John Peyton-Russell, Terry and Professor Pendragon. It gave her a strange thrill to see them thus—Pendragon striding along with the rest. Surely this was a miracle—a Christmas miracle, and she remembered a sentence in an old book of witchcraft that she had once read: “Verily there be magic both black and white, but of these two, the white magic prevaileth ever over the black.” CHAPTER XVIII Ruth did not see Gloria until just before luncheon. “I told him, and he’s going,” she said. “Did he make much of a row?” “Not after I explained that you hadn’t any money.” “Let’s not talk about him any more—only has he gone yet?” “Yes; he wouldn’t even wait until train time. Said he could get luncheon in the village and started out as soon as he could pack. I’m so happy about it—now you can marry Professor Pendragon again.”