She had on a thin, shimmering dress of white, and her hair was coiled in loose golden masses about her head.

On her breast, just below her white, bare throat, she wore a single red rose.

It did not seem remarkable that she should be wearing a rose.

To him the wonderful thing was that the rose, the clinging beauty of her dress, the glowing softness of her hair had been for him, and that something unexpected had taken her out into the night.

Before he could speak she led him swiftly through the hall beyond, and did not pause until they had entered through another door and stood in the room which he knew was her room.