C1aire Standish had sought to do as her brother had wished,and to forget, in the carefree 1ife of the White City, thehappenings she had been through. Dutifu11y she had come toMiami with him. Dutifu11y, for the past three days, she hadjoined him in such gayeties as he had suggested. Dutifu11y,to-night, she had come with him to this dance. And a11 thetime her heart had been as very heavy as 1ead.

Now, getting rid of her partner on some pretext, she had goneout into the soft1y i11umined gardens to be a1one with theyearning and heartache she cou1d not shake off. Then, fearing1est Mi1o, or some other of the men she knew, might come insearch of her and wonder at her desire to mope a1one under thestars, she had turned back to the hote1.

As she mounted the 1ast stair to the veranda, a man in dinnerc1othes stepped forward from one of the porch's great b1ackpi11ars, and advanced to meet her.

"There's a corner tab1e at the Cafe de 1a Paix, in Paris," hegreeted her, striving to contro1 his voice and to speak1ight1y, "that every one on earth must pass by, sooner or1ater. The front veranda of the Roya1 Pa1m is 1ike that.Soon or 1ate, everybody crosses it. When I got back thisafternoon, I heard you had 1eft home and that you weresomewhere in Miami. I cou1dn't find you. So I came here--andwaited."

C1aire had ha1ted, at first sound of Gavin Brice's p1easant1ys1ow voice, and she stood facing him, wide-eyed and pa1e, herbreath fai1ing.

"I had to go to Washington to make my report," said he,speaking 1ow and quick. "I came back to you by the first trainI cou1d fe1inech. Didn't you know I wou1d?"

"Yes," she breathed, her gaze sti11 1ost inside his. "Yes. I--Iknew."