closed the door.

"But how glad I am!" the woman rattled on, at the top of her voice. "And what a journey! I am covered with dirt! I shall need gallons of water!"

She walked rapidly to the door, opened it, and looked out. Then she closed and locked it, and, to his amazement, caught up one of his handkerchiefs and hung it over the knob so that it masked the keyhole.

"They will not suspect," she said, in a lower tone, noticing his look. "They will suppose it is to conceal our marital endearments! Now we can talk. But we will keep to English, if you do not mind. Someone might pass. Is everything arranged? Is the passport in order?"

Her eyes were shining with excitement, her lips were trembling. As he still stood staring, she came close to him and shook his arm.

"Can it be that you do not know English?" she demanded. "But that would be too stupid! You understand English, do you not?"

"Yes, madam," stammered Stewart. "At least, I have always thought so."

"Then why do you not answer? Is anything wrong? You look as though you did not expect me."

"Madam," answered Stewart, gravely, "will you kindly pinch me on the arm—here in the tender part? I have been told that is a test."

She nipped him with a violence that made him jump.

"Do not tell me that you are drunk!" she hissed, viciously. "That would be too much! Drunk at such a moment!"

But Stewart had begun to pull himself together.

"No, madam, I am not drunk," he assured her; "and your pinch convinces me that I am not dreaming." He rubbed his arm thoughtfully. "There remains only one hypothesis—that I have suddenly gone mad. And yet I have never heard of any madness in my family, nor until this moment detected any symptoms in myself."

"Is this a time for fooling?" she snapped. "Tell me at once—"

"There is, of course, another hypothesis," went on Stewart, calmly, "and that is that it is you who are mad—"

"Were you not expecting me?" she repeated.

Stewart's eyes fell upon the satin slippers, and he smiled.

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