The five years that had passed since that tragic night in Cairo had been
more than kind to her. She was lissome, radiant, and dignified, her face
was alive with expression, and a delicate grace was in every movement.
The dark lashes seemed to have grown longer, the brown hair fuller, the
smile softer and more alluring.

"She is an invaluable asset to the Government," Lord Windlehurst murmured
as she came. "No wonder the party helped the marriage on. London
conspired for it, her feet got tangled in the web--and he gave her no
time to think. Thinking had saved her till he came."

By instinct Lord Windlehurst knew. During the first year after the
catastrophe at Kaid's Palace Hylda could scarcely endure the advances
made by her many admirers, the greatly eligible and the eager ineligible,
all with as real an appreciation of her wealth as of her personal
attributes. But she took her place in London life with more than the
old will to make for herself, with the help of her aunt Conyngham,
an individual position.

The second year after her visit to Egypt she was less haunted by the dark
episode of the Palace, memory tortured her less; she came to think of
David and the part he had played with less agitation. At first the
thought of him had moved her alternately to sympathy and to revolt.
His chivalry had filled her with admiration, with a sense of confidence,
of dependence, of touching and vital obligation; but there was, too,
another overmastering feeling. He had seen her life naked, as it were,
stripped of all independence, with the knowledge of a dangerous
indiscretion which, to say the least, was a deformity; and she inwardly
resented it, as one would resent the exposure of a long-hidden physical