So the two passed up-stairs to the secluded alcove, and the bottle shortly followed. Merrihew filled the glasses with the air of one who would like to pass the remainder of his days doing the same thing. Not that he was overfond; but each bottle temporarily weeded out that crop of imperishable debts, that Molochian thousand, that Atalanta whose speed he could not overtake, having no golden apples. To him the world grew roseate and kindly, viewed through the press of the sparkling grape, and invariably he saw fortune beckoning to the card-tables.
"Now, then, Jack, I've got you where I want you. Who is she?"
"On my word, I don't know," answered Hillard, stirring restlessly.
"Then there is a woman!" cried Merrihew, astonished at his perspicacity. "I knew it. Nothing else would so demoralize your nerve. Shall we drink a health to her?"
Hillard raised his glass and touched that of his comrade. For the good of his soul and the peace of his mind, he then and there determined to tell Merrihew the whole adventure, without a single reservation.
"To the Lady in the Fog!" he said.
"Fog?" blankly.
"Well, the Lady in the Mask."
"Fog, mask? Two of them?"
"No, only one. Once I met her in the fog, and then I met her in the mask."