A train whirred past. Was it a strange fatality, or an equally strange telepathic sub-consciousness? In that train was Minna, convalescent after a long illness, being carried on to Marseilles, where she was to catch the steamer to Smyrna. So husband and wife passed each other in the darkness, on the first anniversary of their wedding-day, and the soul of each was filled with passionate repudiation of the other. And in either case the starry woman, whom one worshipped and the other dreaded and envied, was the determining cause. CHAPTER XVII The train drew up slowly beside the platform at Victoria, three-quarters of an hour late. Hugh stood by the half-opened door, in a fume of impatience. He had telegraphed from Paris to Irene that he would be with her at eight. It was that hour now. He must go straightway, for he had resolved to have speech with her that night, and further delay would render his visit untimely. A porter from the Grosvenor Hotel came running up at his call, and took charge of his bag and hold-all. Relieved of responsibilities of luggage, he pushed his way through the hurrying stream of passengers on the platform, towards the cab-rank. But before he could engage a cab, he heard the light patter of hastening footsteps behind him, and his name uttered in a familiar voice. He turned in astonished delight. “Irene!” “Another minute and I should have missed you,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “You have come to meet me? I never dreamed--” “Of course not,” she said with a smile. “Your sex never does. Did you think I could receive you at Redcliffe Gardens? Your name is anathema there. I am only allowed on sufferance. I could not bear you to be denied the door. Besides, I wanted to see you. So I came.” “And you have been waiting all this time? Men are brutes, Irene. I did not think of it. Forgive me.” “For what? For your anxiety to serve me? You were coming straight to me after a twenty-four hours’ journey, without stopping to wash your hands or take food. That needs no forgiveness.” They had been standing at the spot where they had met. He looked anxiously into her face. It was singularly calm and tender, though the eyes were a little weary, and the past month had brought lines about the corners of the delicate mouth. Wonder was mingled with his feelings of relief, for he had expected to find a woman broken down with trouble. Then his phrase about the dull category of common women crossed his mind, and he smiled. “Where shall we talk, Irene?” he said, with a man’s helplessness. “Are you going to Sunnington?” “No. It is too far. I am putting up at the hotel.” “Let us go there,” she said, turning, with prompt decision.. “Will it be wise?” said Hugh. She laughed, ever so little scornfully. “A sweep is not afraid of blacking his fingers when he handles coal. I am past such conventionalities.” “You are mistaken. Quite the contrary.”