out of sight of the remainder of the people. Here she paused and,
holding up her finger, looked around. Her head was thrown back, the
trouble still gleamed in her eyes. She listened intently to the hum
of voices, as though trying to distinguish those she knew.
Satisfied, apparently, that their disappearance had not occasioned
any comment, she moved forward again, motioned Arnold to open a
door, and led him down a long passage to the front of the house.
Here she opened the door of an apartment on the left-hand side of
the hall, and almost pushed him in. She closed the door quickly
behind them. Then she held up her finger.

"Listen!" she said.

They could hear nothing save the distant murmur of voices in the
music-room. The room which they had entered was in complete
darkness, through which the ivory pallor of her arms and face, and
the soft fire of her eyes, seemed to be the only things visible. She
was standing quite close to him. He could hear her breathing, he
could almost fancy that he heard her heart beat. A strand of hair
even touched his cheek as she moved.

"I do not wish to turn the light up for a moment," she whispered.
"You do not mind?"

"I mind nothing," Arnold answered, bewildered. "Are you afraid of
anything? Is there anything I can do?"

A sense of excitement was stirring him.

"Just do as I ask, that is all," she murmured. "I want to look