His amused and slightly sneering gaze was fastened on the girl in furs who had entered what appeared to be a living room to the right, and now, down on her knees beside a couch, smiling and talking confidentially and quite happily to herself, was placing her dolls in a row against the wall.
The dolls were of various sorts, some plainly enough home-made, some very waxy and gay in sash and lace, some with polished smiling features of porcelain.

One doll, however, was different--a bit of ragged red flannel and something protruding to represent the head, something that glittered.

And the girl in the fur jacket had this curious doll in her hands when Ruthven, to make sure of her identity, took a quick impulsive step forward.
[Illustration: "With the acrid smell of smoke choking her."] Then the great white dog growled, very low, and the girl in the fur jacket looked around and up quickly.
Alixe! He realised it as she caught his pale eyes fixed on her; and she stared, sprang to her feet still staring.

Then into her eyes leaped terror, the living horror of recognition distorting her face.

And, as she saw he meant to speak she recoiled, shrinking away, turning in her fright like a hunted thing.