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gowned in white and appeared younger than she had at the dock, but her eyes were clouded with worry. Tarneverro’s manner was professional now; he was cold, remote, unsympathetic. He seated her at the table behind the crystal; then, drawing the curtains all the way, plunged the room into almost complete darkness.

“Tarneverro—you must tell me what to do,” she began. He sat down opposite her.

“Wait,” he commanded. He looked fixedly into the crystal. “I see you standing at the rail on the boat deck of a steamer, under a brilliant moon. You are wearing a dinner gown—it is gold and matches your hair. There is a scarf of the same color about your shoulders. A man is standing at your side; he points, and offers you a pair of glasses. You raise them to your eyes—you catch the last faint glimmer of the lights along the front at Papeete, the port from which you sailed a few brief hours ago.”

“Yes, yes,” murmured Shelah Fane. “Oh, Tarneverro—how do you know———”

“The man turns. I can see him only dimly, but I recognize him. To-day, on the pier—Alan Jaynes—was that his name? He has asked you a question—marriage, perhaps—but you shake your head. Reluctantly. You want to say yes—yet you don’t. You put him off. Why? I feel you love this man.”

“I do,” the star cried. “Oh, Tarneverro—I really do. I knew him first at Papeete—only a week—but in a place like that——— The first night out—it was just as you say—he proposed to me. I haven’t given him my answer yet. I want to say yes—to have a little happiness now—I’ve earned it, I think. But I—I’m afraid———”