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regret not having seen him? Again Ann couldn’t be sure. Vera rose.

“I’m staying at the Imperial tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

It was the nearest Ann could get to any question as to Vera’s plans.

“Tomorrow!” echoed Vera, still with the same bitter ring in her voice. “There may be no tomorrow. Oh, I’m not contemplating a dose of poison or anything dramatic of that sort. I haven’t got the pluck to commit suicide—I wish I had.”

She rose, and in the darkness stumbled over a low stool.

“I’d better turn on the light,” said Ann.

She waited a moment, but as Vera did not again request her not to do so, she moved to the switch, and in a second the little showroom was revealed in a flood of radiance. Clearly now Ann could see the ravages that physical and mental suffering had wrought in Vera’s face. She was still handsome, but she looked a wreck of her former self. And yet it seemed to Ann that the eyes were not so wild, the whole figure less tense than it had been at the beginning of the interview. “Has it helped her?” Ann asked herself. “Has she at last accepted defeat?” But still she couldn’t tell.

Vera was looking round now at the hats.

“Have you made a success of this? Oh, I needn’t ask. I can see you have. You should thank God you have some work that interests you. It might have saved me—any sort of creative effort.” She moved across to one of the stands and picked up a hat. “That's pretty.” Suddenly she replaced it on the stand, and laughed, But her laughter, to Ann, was