me money--and half a crown a day was not enough,--Mrs
Baker gives me half a crown. I--I go to another lady in the afternoons,
and she is a Suffragette. She is very kind to me, and very patient,
because I'm stupid, and can't understand, and--and I don't seem to care!
I don't _want_ a vote, but she was Number Nine to-night, and she is
ill--her throat is very bad, she might be dangerously ill if she came
out. She would only stay at home if I promised to take her place, and,
she has been very kind.--I promised, and now I've failed. I was too
terribly frightened. And then I saw your face... Oh, what _do_ you
think of me?"

But John Baker refused to give any expression of opinion. All he said
was:

"Half a crown a day! She offered you _that_! Oh, my poor little girl!"
And his voice was so low and tender that at the sound of it Norah
sobbed afresh.

"Don't cry. Put on your hat. I will take you into the air, and drive
you home in a taxi. You will feel better in the air," said John
quietly.

He gave her his arm, and escorted her into the corridor, and as they
walked along, another roar sounded from within the precincts of the
hall, and through an open doorway shot a dishevelled female form,
struggling in the grasp of half a dozen stewards. Danvers herself! The
faithful Danvers, who, seeing the collapse of her mistress' proxy, had
gallantly taken upon herself the duties of Number Nine. Norah
shuddered, and grasped more tightly John's protecting arm.

"Oh, what _must_ you think of me?" she demanded once more; and John,
looking down at her as they reached the cool air of the street, replied
sturdily:

"I think that no woman can serve two masters. Can't you make up your
mind to take _one_ instead?"

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE AFTER YEARS.

Fifteen years had come and gone. The men and women who had sat round
the fire on that memorable New Year's Eve in Mrs Ingram's hospitable
country manor, had left youth behind, and entered upon the strenuous
term of middle age, while their host and hostess had reached a stage
still further on the downward path, and frankly ranged themselves among
the old.

Fifteen years ago! And now once more the end of the year was
approaching, and Mr Ingram and his wife were discussing their plans for
the festive season. It was a very frail woman who lay back against the
cushions of her chair, and to her husband all outside considerations
were as naught compared with the necessity