"This Mr. Thain must be rather interesting," Marcia said musingly. "Could you describe him?"

It was at that precise moment that the Marquis raised his head and discovered that David Thain was being shown by an obsequious maître d'hôtel to the table adjoining their own.

In the case of almost any other of his acquaintances, the Marquis's course of action would have been entirely simple. David, however, complicated things. With the naïve courtesy of his American bringing up, he no sooner recognized the Marquis than he approached the table and offered his hand.

"Good evening, Marquis," he said. The Marquis shook hands. Some banalities passed between the two men. Then, as though for the first time, David was suddenly and vividly aware of Marcia's presence. Some instinct told him who she was, and for a moment, he forgot himself. He looked at her steadily, curiously, striving to remember, and Marcia returned his gaze with a strange absorption which at first she failed to understand. This slim, nervous-looking man, with the earnest eyes and the slight stoop of the head, was bringing back to her some memory. From the first stage of the struggle, her common sense was worsted. She was looking back down the avenues of her memory. Surely somewhere in that shadowland she had known someone with eyes like these!—there must be something to explain this queer sense of excitement. And then the Marquis, who had been deliberating, spoke the words which brought her to herself.

"Marcia, let me present to you Mr. David Thain, of whom we were speaking a few minutes ago. Mr. Thain, this is Miss Marcia Hannaway, whose very clever novel you may have read." David's eyes were still eagerly fixed upon her face, but the introduction had brought Marcia back to the earth. There could be no connection between those half-formed memories and the American millionaire whose name was almost a household word!

"I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Hannaway," David said. "I was just telling the Marquis that I was surprised to find anyone here whom I knew. I asked a friend to tell me of a restaurant near my rooms where I should meet no one, and he sent me here."

"Why such misanthropy?" she asked.

"It is my own bad manners," he explained. "I accepted an invitation for this evening and found at the last moment so much work that I was obliged to send an excuse."

"You carry your work about with you, then?"

"Not 

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