I. A. R. Wylie

“ Save for the pale, ghostly reflection of a street lamp there was no light, and her hand groped instinctively toward the electric switch, then conquering the impulse, she closed the door and stole forward. Her movements were now swift, cautious, yet fearless. It was as though a long-pent-up energy had at last found its outlet, and the sudden light from the table-lamp lit up a face whose beauty and passionate and stern resolution might have belonged to some classic figure of tragedy. ”

“ Ray East's face turned to the firelight seemed to darken with the shadow of her own hidden thought. “Why should you feel sorry for him?” she asked, with a faint bitterness.
“Oh, I don't know—this will be a great blow to him—bigger than we know perhaps. Gilbert Haig hinted at something—I didn't understand—it was like a threat against him—but, after all, I can't feel much. I have only to think of my mother and I know that whatever happened it would only be just—”
“And sometimes justice is executed in this world,” Ray East interrupted. ”

“ Margaret Monkhouse stretched out her gloved hand and laid it on her companion's arm.
“I am so happy,” she said, scarcely above a whisper, “so very happy.”
Ray East smiled at her, at the vivid cheeks and the eyes brilliant with excitement and hope. She herself. looked wan, almost old.
“That makes everything worth while—just to hear you say it. You look like your mother to-night, Margaret, as she was in the days of her happiness. And from now onwards life is going to be for you what it should have been for her. ”