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170 a tête-à-tête with Grace Croydon. Therefore he dressed as rapidly as he could and ran lightly down the stair. But there was no one waiting for him before the fire-place.

He sat down in one of the great chairs, hoping against hope. Perhaps she would come; every moment of silence irked him; he was chafing to tear down the wall of misunderstanding that had risen between them. How could she have permitted Tremaine’s threatening insolence? She was the last woman in the world…

“I think we’re going to have rain,” said a smooth voice, and Drysdale looked up with a start to find Tremaine standing beside him.

Since the night before they had made no pretence of friendship; they instinctively understood each other; and Tremaine’s smile now had a cool impudence very galling. Nevertheless, Drysdale choked back his first angry impulse; he must wait until Grace spoke.

“Do you?” he said carelessly, and turned deliberately away.

Tremaine’s face flushed at the tone and his eyes narrowed like a cat’s; then he, too, sat down and stretched out his legs.

“It’s a great privilege,” he said, “to be admitted thus to a place where life passes so pleasantly.”

“It is,” agreed Drysdale. “I confess, I don’t understand how you obtained it.”

He regretted the words the instant they were spoken; he had no wish to precipitate a quarrel.

Tremaine did not change his careless attitude, but