But the next day, the papers repeated the news. And it remained, for the first time, uncontradicted by anybody. All that morning he sat at his desk staring at her picture, reproduced in half-tones on the first page of every newspaper in town--stared at it, and at the neighbouring likeness of Sir Charles in the uniform of his late regiment; read once more of Strelsa's first marriage with all its sequence of misery and degradation; read fulsome columns celebrating her beauty, her popularity, her expected engagement to one of the wealthiest Englishmen in the world. [Illustration: "Once more, according to the newspapers, her engagement to Sir Charles was expected to be announced."] He read, also, all about Sir Charles Mallison, V.C.--the long record of his military service, his wealth and the dignified simplicity of his life. He read about his immense popularity in England, his vast but unostentatious charities, his political and social status. To Quarren it all meant nothing more definite than a stupid sequence of printed words; and he dropped his blond head into both hands and gazed out into the sunshine. And presently he remembered the golden dancer laughing at him from under her dainty mask--years and years ago: and then he thought of the woman whose smooth young hands once seemed to melt so sweetly against his--thought of her gray eyes tinged with violet, and her hair and mouth and throat--and her cheek faintly fragrant against his--a moment's miracle--and then, the end---- He made a quick, aimless movement as though impatiently escaping sudden pain; cleared his sun-dazzled eyes and began, half blindly, to turn over his morning's letters--circulars, bills, business matters--and suddenly came upon a letter from her. For a while he merely gazed at it, incredulous of its reality. Then he opened the envelope very deliberately and still, scarcely convinced, unfolded the scented sheaf of note-paper: "DEAR MR. QUARREN, "At Mrs. Sprowl's suggestion I wrote to Sir Charles asking him to be kind enough to bring you with him when he came to 'Skyland.' "Somehow, I am afraid that my informality may have offended you; and if this is so, I am sorry. We have been such good friends that I supposed I might venture to send you such a message. "But perhaps I ought to have written it to you instead--I don't know. Lately it seems as though many things that I have done have been entirely misunderstood. "It's gray weather here, and the sea looks as though it were bad-tempered; and I've been rather discontented, too, this morning---- "I don't really mean that. There is a very jolly party here.... I believe that I'm growing a little tired of parties.