get back from Bermuda?"

Priscilla slipped from the room and closed the door noiselessly behind
her, but not before she had seen Margaret Moffatt sink into Huntter's
arms; not before she heard the sigh of perfect content that escaped her.

Alone in the anteroom, the hideous truth flayed Priscilla into suffering
and clear vision.

"What shall I do?" she moaned, clasping her hands and swaying back and
forth. All the burden and responsibility of the world seemed cast upon
her. Then reason asserted itself.

"He will tell her! He is telling her now! Killing her love--killing her!
Oh, my God!"

Then she shrank from the thought that she would, in a few moments, have
to face her friend! How could she, when she remembered that holy night of
confession in the little Swiss village? Again she moaned, "Oh! my God!"
But she was spared that scene. Moments, though they seemed ages, passed,
and then Huntter called:

"Miss Glynn!"

She hardly recognized his voice. It was--triumphant, thrilling. It rang
boldly, commandingly. When she entered, Huntter was alone. Gone was the
guest; gone the mass of golden roses. Huntter turned a face glowing and
confident to her.

"Just because you are you, Miss Glynn, and because I'm the happiest man