consisted. Not a feature was regular; the freckles on nose and forehead
seemed to show more plainly under the glare of the electric lights; the
eyes were red-brown. But how large they were, and how they seemed to
sparkle with intelligence!

She looked up suddenly. Her expression was serious now. Up to the
present her eyes, while she talked, had been singularly animated, often
full of laughter.

"Mr. Berrington, have you ever been in love?"

I was so surprised at this question, from a woman to whom I was
practically a stranger, that I thought it best to treat it as a jest.

"Yes, a dozen times," I answered. "I am in love at this moment," I added
lightly, as if joking.

"You need not have told me that," she said, serious still. "I knew it
the moment I saw you both together. I asked--but only to hear what you
would say."

"But--but--" I stammered, "I--you--that is I don't quite catch your
meaning. When did you see 'us' both together--and who is the other
person you are thinking of?"

She had finished her ice.

"Please give me some more champagne," she said.

I picked up the half-empty bottle, refilled her glass, then my own. She