temps, such
as this. I cannot live in England."

"Helen, you've not forgiven me for my treachery. You COULDN'T talk like
this to me if you had."

"Oh, Meg dear, why do we talk at all?" She dropped a book and sighed
wearily. Then, recovering herself, she said: "Tell me, how is it that
all the books are down here?"

"Series of mistakes."

"And a great deal of furniture has been unpacked."

"All."

"Who lives here, then?"

"No one."

"I suppose you are letting it, though."

"The house is dead," said Margaret, with a frown. "Why worry on about
it?"

"But I am interested. You talk as if I had lost all my interest in life.
I am still Helen, I hope. Now this hasn't the feel of a dead house.
The hall seems more alive even than in the old days, when it held the
Wilcoxes' own things."

"Interested, are you? Very well, I must tell you, I suppose. My husband
lent it on condition we--but by a mistake all our things were unpacked,
and Miss Avery, instead of--" She stopped. "Look here, I can't go on
like this. I warn you I won't. Helen, why should you be so miserably
unkind to me, simply because you hate Henry?"

"I don't hate him now," said Helen. "I have stopped being a schoolgirl,
and, Meg, once again, I'm not being unkind. But as for fitting in with
your English life--no, put it out of your head at once. Imagine a visit
from me at Ducie Street! It's unthinkable."

Margaret could not contradict her. It was appalling to see her quietly
moving forward with her plans, not bitter or excitable, neither
asserting innocence nor confessing guilt, merely desiring freedom and
the company of those who would not blame her. She had been through--how
much? Margaret did not know. But it was enough to part her from old
habits as well as old friends.

"Tell me about yourself," said Helen, who had chosen her books, and was
lingering over the furniture.

"There's nothing to tell."

"But your marriage has been happy, Meg?"

"Yes, but I don't feel inclined to talk."

"You feel as I do."

"Not that, but I can't."

"No more can I. It is a nuisance, but no good trying."

Something had come between them. Perhaps it was Society, which
henceforward would exclude Helen. Perhaps it was a third life, already
potent as a spirit. They could find no meeting-place. Both suffered
acutely, and were not comforted by the knowledge that affection
survived.

"Look here, Meg, is the coast clear?"

"You mean that you want to go away from m