His brain had served him a strange trick.

In the shadows of the room he had fancied that he could see Stephanie Eiderstrom holding out her arms, calling to him to fulfill the pledges of long ago, and behind her-- "Have you ever been in love, Mangan ?" Dominey asked his companion.
"I, sir?
Well, I'm not sure," the man of the world replied, a little startled by the abruptness of the question.

"It's an old-fashioned way of looking at things now, isn't it ?" Dominey relapsed into thoughtfulness.
"I suppose so," he admitted.
That night a storm rolled up from somewhere across that grey waste of waters, a storm heralded by a wind which came booming over the marshes, shaking the latticed windows of Dominey Place, shrieking and wailing amongst its chimneys and around its many corners.

Black clouds leaned over the land, and drenching streams of rain dashed against the loose-framed sashes of the windows.

Dominey lit the tall candles in his bedroom, fastened a dressing-gown around him, threw himself into an easy-chair, and, fixing an electric reading lamp by his side, tried to read.