"And now this has happened, just to him and me, and if it never happened before, all the more gorgeous luck! He _shall_ have something back for his life. He shall know what love is before he dies. You can go to anybody you like for your portrait, George; Peggy and I are out for blood. What's the good of having luck if you don't believe in it? If being nice didn't work let's have a shot at the other thing. (Ah, so _that's_ a cocktail!) So that's that, George. Something's bound to happen. He'll be writing to me or something; I'm not worrying in the least.... But I mustn't let my neck get all pink like this just with thinking of him." She fetched out a little mirror and a puff. "Nice girls used to do that, and it was called maiden modesty, and I'm damned if it paid. I'm perfectly willing to learn, either from Peggy with her garters or anybody else.... Ah, she's getting up! I must see her close to----" She was on her feet. I heard her murmur, "I'm taller than she is anyway----" "Sit down till I've got the waiter," I said. But she continued to stand. She was looking after the girl she had called Peggy--erect, ready, perilously instructed, a beautiful danger. Her life had been one unvarying, starry lamp of love; now, for the beguiling of the Derry of those onrushing years of the heat of his blood, a hundred false fires were being prepared. And I could only remain silent at the wonder of it, that all was one, and that the false was no less true than the true. III It still wanted a week to the thirtieth, but I had various matters to set in order, and the time passed quickly. I saw Julia once more before I left. She still nonchalantly left it to me, should I come across Derry, to let her know or not, as I thought best. She herself was not going very far--merely into Buckingham to stay with friends. She gave me dates and addresses, and then her manner seemed to me to show some hesitation. "If he should write to me for money suddenly," she said. "You see, you won't be at hand." "Oh, that's all arranged. He wouldn't wait till he was actually starving before he wrote, and Mrs Moxon is readdressing all letters immediately." "But suppose he wrote to me. I've no money." "Then you can wire me. I'll arrange for a sight-draft." Her hands smoothed down the body of a frock I had not seen before--a sooty shower of black chiffon over I know not what intricately-simple and expensive-looking swathing below. "I believe you're afraid to trust me with his money," she smiled, preening herself. This conversation, I ought to say, took place in her studio. Suddenly I looked up. "Julia," I demanded, "where's that tallboy gone?" "The tallboy? Oh, it's somewhere about the place." "On your back?" "Not all of it. Some of it's on my feet. Don't you like them?" She showed them. I turned away.