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 hands with her enthusiastically. 'This is splendid!' He was complete master of the situation. He would be, thought Cicely. 'How are you? You look wonderfully.'

Cicely replied, 'I'm very well, thank you.'

Roger turned to Sheilah. 'Your cousin and I are old friends,' he announced.

'Really?' groped Sheilah. When—where—how? That tantalizing sensation again! And then it flashed over her! She remembered it all! The sunny winter morning; the high banks of snow; Cicely stopping her; telling her about Roger Dallinger; the look in her eyes; the tone of her voice; 'I remember!' she said, slowly, wonderingly. 'Why, I remember.' And she stared at Cicely, suddenly become so cold, and formal, and withdrawn.

'Oh, no, you don't,' scoffed Roger. 'You never heard of my existence.' Sheilah didn't contradict him. 'I mailed you a note last night,' Roger remarked, turning to Cicely. 'I'm delighted to come to dinner with you on the sixth, or is it the eighth?'

That was all the impression her invitation had made! 'The eighth,' she replied. 'I received your note this morning.' Her intonation was smooth and flawless.

'I've a great deal to talk to you about—years to make up,' Roger rushed on. 'Among other things I want to discuss this fellow inmate of mine.' He