Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. She looked steadfastly out. ’ ‘Wait!’ Leaning forward, Hilary tapped on the panel. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain.
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