I looked down upon the table, all agleam with flowers, and fruit, and silver, over which shone the red glow of the shaded lamps.
Exactly opposite to me, in that chair now pushed carelessly back, she had sat, so close that my hand could have touched hers at any moment, so close that I had been able to wonder more than ever before at the marvellous whiteness of her skin, the perfection of her small, finely-shaped features, the strange sphinxlike expression of her face, always suggestive of some great self-restraint, mysterious, and subtly stimulating.

And as I stood there she seemed again to be occupying the chair, at first a faint shadowy presence, but gaining with every second shape and outline, until I could scarcely persuade myself that it was not she who sat there, she whose eyes more than once during dinner-time had looked into mine with that curious and instinctive demand for sympathy, even as regards the things of the moment, the passing jest, the most transitory of emotions.

A few minutes ago I had felt that I knew her better than ever before in my life, and now the chair was empty.

My heart was beating at the imaginary presence of the vainest of shadows.

She was going to marry Colonel Mostyn Ray.
And then I stood as though suddenly turned to stone.