A friend probably had looked him up for a drink and smoke. He was glad; he wanted companionship, easy, genial companionship, not that pale devil Schuabe, with his dreary talk and everlasting reminder. He went out into the passage and opened the front door. A woman stood there. She moved, and the light from the hall shone on her face. The eyes were brilliant, the lips were half parted. It was Gertrude Hunt. * * * * * They were sitting on each side of the fire. Gertrude was pale, but her dark beauty blazed at him. She was smoking a cigarette, just as in the old time. A little table with a caraffe of brandy and bottles of seltzer in a silver stand stood between them. Llwellyn's face was one large circle of pleasure and content. His eyes gleamed with an evil triumph as he looked at the girl. "Good Heavens!" he cried, "why, Gertie, it's almost worth while losing you to have you back again like this. It's just exactly as it used to be, only better; yes, better! So you got tired of it all, and you've come back. What a little fool you were ever to go away, dear!" "Yes, I got tired of it," she repeated, but in a curiously strained voice. He was too exhilarated to notice the strange manner of her reply. "Well, I've got any amount of ready cash now," he said joyously. "You can have anything you like now that you've given up the confounded parsons and become sensible again." She seemed to make an effort to throw off something that oppressed her. "Now, Bob," she said, "don't talk about it. I've been a little fool, but that's over. What a lot you've got to tell me! What did you do all the time you were away? Where did you raise the 'oof from? Tell me _everything_. Let's be as we were before. No more secrets!" He seemed to hesitate for a moment. She saw that, and stood up. "Come and kiss me, Bob," she said. He went to her with unsteady footsteps, as if he were intoxicated by the fury of his passion. "Tell me everything, Bob," she whispered into his ear. The man surrendered himself to her, utterly, absolutely. "Gertie," he said, "I'll tell you the queerest story you ever heard." He laughed wildly. "I've tricked the whole world by Jove! cleared fifty thousand pounds, and made fools of the whole world." She laughed, a shrill, high treble. "Dear old Bob," she cried; "clever old Bob, you're the best of them all! What have you done this time? Tell me all about it." "By God, I will," he cried. "I'll tell you the whole story, little girl." His voice was utterly changed. "Yes, everything!" she repeated fiercely. Her body shook violently as she spoke. The man thought it was in response to his caresses. And the face which looked out over the man's shoulder, and had lately been as the face of Delilah, was become as the face of Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite. * * * * * "No more secrets, Bob?"