What had she expected when she married him?  Only innocent ignorance of the set he ornamented could account for the horror of her disillusion.  What splendours had she dreamed of from the outside?  What flashing and infernal signal had beckoned her to enter?  What mute eyes had promised?  What silent smile invited?  All skulls seem to grin; but the world has yet to hear them laugh.

* * * * *

“Philip?”

“Yes, Alixe.”

“I did my best, w-without offending Gerald.  Can you believe me?”

“I know you did. . . .  Don’t mind what I said—­”

“N-no, not now. . . .  You do believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Thank you. . . .  And, Phil, I will try to s-steer straight—­because you ask me.”

“You must.”

“I will. . . .  It is good to be here. . . .  I must not come again, must I?”

“Not again, Alixe.”

“On your account?”

“On your own. . . .  What do I care?”

“I didn’t know.  They say—­”

“What?” he asked sharply.

“A rumour—­I heard it—­others speak of it—­perhaps to be disagreeable to me—­”

“What have you heard?”

“That—­that you might marry again—­”

“Well, you can nail that lie,” he said hotly.

“Then it is not true?”

“True!  Do you think I’d take that chance again even if I felt free to do it?”

“Free?” she faltered; “but you are free, Phil!”

“I am not,” he said fiercely; “no man is free to marry twice under such conditions.  It’s a jest at decency and a slap in the face of civilisation!  I’m done for—­finished; I had my chance and I failed.  Do you think I consider myself free to try again with the chance of further bespattering my family?”

“Wait until you really love,” she said tremulously.

He laughed incredulously.

“I am glad that it is not true. . . .  I am glad,” she said.  “Oh, Phil!  Phil!—­for a single one of the chances we had again and again and again!—­and we did not know—­we did not know!  And yet—­there were moments—­”

Dry-lipped he looked at her, and dry of eye and lip she raised her head and stared at him—­through him—­far beyond at the twin ghosts floating under the tropic stars locked fast in their first embrace.

Then she rose, blindly, covering her face with her hands, and he stumbled to his feet, shrinking back from her—­because dead fires were flickering again, and the ashes of dead roses stirred above the scented embers—­and the magic of all the East was descending like a veil upon them, and the Phantom of the Past drew nearer, smiling, wide-armed, crowned with living blossoms.

The tide rose, swaying her where she stood; her hands fell from her face.  Between them the grave they had dug seemed almost filled with flowers now—­was filling fast.  And across it they looked at one another as though stunned.  Then his face paled and he stepped back, staring at her from stern eyes.