Storri, thinking on escape, arose to go.

He stepped into the hallway for his coat and hat.

Then he returned, and, giving his hand to the reclining San Reve, drew her to her feet.

Storri, about to go, was beaming; the kiss he printed lightly on the San Reve's lips spoke of a heart relieved.

The San Reve herself was amiably placid; her anger apparently had died with her doubts.
"And you do not love Miss Harley ?" "No; I swear by my mother's grave!" "By your mother's grave!" Then, voice deep as the mellow pipe of an organ: "Storri, you lie!" Storri, aghast, was surprised into his usual defense of bluster.