I think it was because I met a little man with red whiskers whom you once pointed out to me in the smoking salon on the _Nome_.

And so--I am your guest, Mr.Holt." There was not the slightest suspicion of apology in her voice as she smoothed back her hair where he had crumpled it.

It was as if she belonged here, and had always belonged here, and was giving him permission to enter her domain.

Shock was beginning to pass away from him, and he could feel his feet upon the earth once more.

His spirit-visions of her as she had walked hand in hand with him during the past weeks, her soft eyes filled with love, faded away before the reality of Mary Standish in flesh and blood, her quiet mastery of things, her almost omniscient unapproachableness.