He drew up one of the blinds to admit the light; and there, away over the hills beyond, the glen showed the red flush that heralded the sun’s coming.  Then, returning to where stood the young and attractive woman in pale pink chiffon, with diamonds on her neck and a star in her fair hair, he looked her straight in the face and asked, “Well, and what have you decided?”

She raised her eyes to his, but made no reply.  She was hesitating.

The gems upon her were heirlooms of the Heyburn family, and in that grey light looked cold and glassy.  The powder and the slight touch of carmine upon her cheeks, which at night had served to heighten her beauty, now gave her an appearance of painted artificiality.  She was undeniably a pretty woman, and surely required no artificial aids to beauty.  About thirty-three, yet she looked five years younger; while her husband was twenty years senior to herself.  She still retained a figure so girlish that most people took her for Gabrielle’s elder sister, while in the matter of dress she was admitted in society to be one of the leaders of fashion.  Her hair was of that rare copper-gold tint, her features regular, with a slightly protruding chin, soft eyes, and cheeks perfect in their contour.  Society knew her as a gay, reckless, giddy woman, who, regardless of the terrible affliction which had fallen upon the brilliant man who was her husband, surrounded herself with a circle of friends of the same type as herself, and who thoroughly enjoyed her life regardless of any gossip or of the malignant statements by women who envied her.

Men were fond of “Winnie Heyburn,” as they called her, and always voted her “good fun.”  They pitied poor Sir Henry; but, after all, he was blind, and preferred his hobbies of collecting old seals and dusty parchment manuscripts to dances, bridge-parties, theatres, aero shows at Ranelagh, and suppers at the Carlton or Savoy.

Like most wealthy women of her type, she had a wide circle of male friends.  Younger men declared her to be “a real pal,” and with some of the older beaux she would flirt and be amused by their flattering speeches.

Gabrielle’s mother, the second daughter of Lord Buckhurst, had been dead several years when the brilliant politician met his second wife at a garden-party at Dollis Hill.  She was daughter of a man named Lambert, a paper manufacturer, who acted as political agent in the town of Bedford; and she was, therefore, essentially a country cousin.  Her beauty was, however, remarked everywhere.  The Baronet was struck by her, and within three months they were married at St. George’s, Hanover Square, the world congratulating her upon a very excellent match.  From the very first, however, the difference in the ages of husband and wife proved a barrier.  Ere the honeymoon was over she found that her husband, tied by his political engagements and by his eternal duties at the House, was unable to accompany her out of an evening; hence from the very first they had drifted apart, until, eight months later, the terrible affliction of blindness fell upon him.