Hamil nodded inattentively.

“I am about seven thousand dollars ahead on the other sort of luck,” observed Malcourt.  “If it holds to-night I’ll inaugurate a killing that will astonish the brothers B. yonder.  By the way, now that you have your club ticket why don’t you use it?—­one way or another.”

“Perhaps,” replied Hamil listlessly.

A few minutes later Malcourt, becoming bored, genially took his leave; and Hamil turned on an electric jet and began to undo his collar and tie.

He was in no hurry; at times he suspended operations to pace aimlessly to and fro; and after a while, half undressed, he dropped into an arm-chair, clinched hands supporting his temples.

Presently he said aloud to himself:  “It’s absolutely impossible.  It can’t happen this way.  How can it?”

His heavy pulse answered the question; a tense strain, irksome as an ache, dragged steadily at something within him which resisted; dulling reason and thought.

For a long time he sat there inert, listening for the sound of her voice which echoed at moments through the stunned silence within him.  And at last he stumbled to his feet like a stricken man on the firing line, stupefied that the thing had happened to him; and stood unsteadily, looking around.  Then he went heavily about his dressing.

Later, when he was ready to leave his room, he heard Malcourt walking through the corridor outside—­a leisurely and lightly stepping Malcourt, whistling a lively air.  And, when Malcourt had passed came Cecile rustling from the western corridor, gay, quick-stepping, her enchanting laughter passing through the corridor like a fresh breeze as she joined Mrs. Carrick on the stairs.  Then silence; and he opened his door.  And Shiela Cardross, passing noiselessly, turned at the sound.

His face must have been easy to read for her own promptly lost its colour, and with an involuntary recoil she stepped back against the wall, staring at him in pallid silence.

“What is the matter?” he asked, scarcely recognising his own voice.  And striving to shake off the unreality of it all with a laugh:  “You look like some pretty ghost from dreamland—­with your white gown and arms and face.  Shall we descend into the waking world together?”

They stood for a moment motionless, looking straight at one another; then the smile died out on his face, but he still strove to speak lightly, using effort, like a man with a dream dark upon him:  “I am waiting for your pretty ghostship.”

Her lips moved in reply; no sound came from them.

“Are you afraid of me?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Of me, Shiela?”

“Of us both.  You don’t know—­you don’t know!”

“Know what, Shiela?”

“What I am—­what I have done.  And I’ve got to tell you.”  Her mouth quivered suddenly, and she faced him fighting for self-control.  “I’ve got to tell you.  Things cannot be left in this way between us.  I thought they could, but they can’t.”