at in Densmore Gardens, South
Kensington, for the rent of which Reginald Garthorne and Mr. Bernard
Falcon were jointly responsible--of course, under other names. The only
condition that Carol had made with Garthorne, was that, whatever
happened, he would not tell Vane of her change of address, and he, for
very good reasons of his own, had promised unconditionally.

CHAPTER V.

The next day Enid Raleigh came home.

Almost the first thing she said to her mother, who had met her at the
station with the carriage, was:

"Well, and where is Master Vane, please? He is in town, isn't he? Why
didn't he come to meet me? I shall have to make him do penance for
this."

The words were lightly spoken, spoken in utter unconsciousness of the
deep meaning which Fate had put into them. So far as Enid herself was
concerned, and as, in fact, she was just thinking at the moment, all
they meant was that at their next meeting she would refuse Vane his
long-accustomed lover's kiss, and then, after an explanation occupying
some three or four minutes at most, surrender at discretion, after which
would come the luxury of playing at being offended and standing on her
dignity for a few minutes more, and then enjoying the further luxury of
making it up.

"Yes, dear," said her mother, "Vane is in town still. I think he doesn't
go back to Oxford until the end of the week, but he hasn't been very
well lately----"

"Not well!" exclaimed Enid, sitting up out of the corner of the carriage
into which she had leaned back with that easy abandon which comes so
naturally to people accustomed to comfort all their lives. "Ill! Why,
Vane's never been ill in his life. What's the matter? It isn't anything
serious, is it? You don't mean that he's really ill, mother, do you?"

There was no mistaking the reality of the anxiety in her tone. Her
mother recognised it instantly, but she also saw that a brougham
rattling over the streets of London was not exactly the place to enter
upon such explanations as it was her destiny and her duty to make to
this brilliant, beautiful, spoilt darling of a daughter who was sitting
beside her.

So far as she knew, every hope, every prospect of Enid's life, that
bright young life which, in the fuller acceptation of the term, was only
just going to begin, was connected more or less intimately with Vane
Maxwell.

Ever since they had come home together from Bombay on that memorable
voyage, she and Vane had been sweet