Still more than the touch of his hand and the reserve of his manner, the cold reticence of his voice chilled her. She turned to the servant abruptly-- "Bring lamps," she said. She felt the need to see Tony Stretton's face. She had looked forward so eagerly to his coming; she had hoped for it, and despaired of it with so full a heart; and now he had come, and with him there had come, most unexpectedly, disappointment. She had expected ardour, and there was only, as it seemed, indifference and stolidity. She was prepared for a host of questions to be tumbled out upon her in so swift a succession that no time was given to her for an answer to any one of them; and he stood before her, seemingly cold as stone. Had he ceased to care for Millie, she wondered? "You have come as quickly as you could?" she asked, trying to read his features in the obscurity. "I have not lost a moment since I received your letter," he answered. She caught at the words, "your letter." Perhaps there lay the reason for his reserve. She had written frankly, perhaps too frankly she feared at this moment. Had the letter suddenly killed his love for Millie? Such things, no doubt, could happen--had happened. Disillusion might have withered it like a swift shaft of lightning. "My letter," she said. "You must not exaggerate its meaning. You read it carefully?" "Very carefully." "And I wrote it carefully," she went on, pleading with his indifference; "very carefully." "It contains the truth," said Tony; "I did not doubt that." "Yes; but it contains all the truth," she urged. "You must not doubt that either. Remember, you yourself are to blame. I wrote that, didn't I? I meant it." "Yes, you wrote that," answered Tony. "I am not denying that you are right. It may well be that I am to blame. It may well be that you, too, are not quite free from blame. Had you told me that morning, when we rode together in the Row, what you had really meant when you said that I ought never to leave my wife----" And at that Pamela interrupted him-- "Would you have stayed if I had explained?" she cried. And Tony for a moment was silent. Then he answered slowly-- "No; for I should not have believed you." And then he moved for the first time since he had entered the room. "However, it can do neither of us any good to discuss what we might have done had we known then what we know now." He stopped as the door opened. The lamps were brought in and set upon the tables. Tony waited until the servant had gone out, and the door was closed again; then he said-- "You sent a telegram. I am here in answer to it. I was to be at Roquebrune on the thirty-first. This is the thirty-first. Am I in time?" "Yes," said Pamela.