There was a soft carpet upon the floor, Chippendale furniture, flowers, hothouse fruit, and on the mantelpiece--the photograph of a man." He paused, and they took the whole one long turn along the wind-swept, shadowy deck in silence.
"Presently she came," he continued.

"The change was there, too.

She was dressed simply enough, but even I, in my inexperience, knew the difference.

She came in--she, who had spoken of suicide a short time ago--singing softly to herself.

She saw me, our eyes met, and the story was told.