Leonard," she added, touching his hand for a moment with hers, "I wish that I could tell you everything, but there are things behind, things so terrible, that even to you, my dear brother, I could not speak of them." Tavernake rose to his feet and lit a cigarette--a new habit with him, while Beatrice busied herself with a small coffee-making machine.

He sat in an easy-chair and smoked slowly.

He was still wearing his ready-made clothes, but his collar was of the fashionable shape, his tie well chosen and neatly adjusted.

He seemed somehow to have developed.
"Beatrice," he asked, "what am I to tell your sister to-morrow ?" She shivered as she set his coffee-cup down by his side.
"Tell her, if you will, that I am well and not in want," she answered.
"Tell her, too, that I refuse to send my address.

Tell her that the one aim of my life is to keep the knowledge of my whereabouts a secret from her." Tavernake relapsed into silence.