en
has been telling me some things Louis told him."

"I know. About the hospital and the children."

"Yes. Isn't it interesting? And that's been going on for years; it's not
a new pose for our benefit. I've no doubt there are lots of other
things, if we knew them. But--oh, Rob, his grandfather says he bought
the little head in colour because he thought it looked like Gordon. I'm
going to send him the last photograph right away. Rob, there's Forbes
Westcott!"

"Where?"

"Right ahead. Shall we stop and take him in? Of course he's on his way
to see you, as usual. How he does anything in his own office--"

"James!" Roberta leaned forward and spoke to the coachman. "Turn down
this street--quickly, please. Don't look, Rosy--don't! Let's not go
straight home; let's drive a while. It--it's such a lovely day!"

"Why, Rob! I thought--"

"Please don't think anything. I'm trying not to."

Rosamond impulsively put her white-gloved hand on Roberta's. "I don't
believe you are succeeding," she whispered daringly. "Particularly
since--this morning!"

CHAPTER XXII

ROBERTA WAKES EARLY

Midsummer Day! Roberta woke with the thought in her mind, as it had been
the last in her mind when she had gone to sleep. She had lain awake for
a long time the night before, watching a strip of moonlight which lay
like flickering silver across her wall. Who would have found it easy to
sleep, with the consciousness beating at her brain that on the morrow
something momentous was as surely going to happen as that the sun would
rise? Did she want it to happen? Would she rather not run away and
prevent its happening? There was no doubt that, being a woman, she
wanted to run away. At the same time--being a woman--she knew that she
would not run. Something would stay her feet.

With wide-open eyes on this Midsummer morning she lay, as she had lain
the night before, regarding without attention the early sunlight
flooding the room where moonlight had lain a few hours ago. Her bare,
round arms, from which picturesque apologies for sleeves fell back, were
thrown wide upon her pillows, her white throat and shoulders gleamed
below the loose masses of her hair, her heart was beating a trifle more
rapidly than was natural after a night of repose.

It was very early, as a little clock upon a desk announced--half after
five. Yet some one in the house was up, for Roberta heard a light
footfall outside her door. There followed a soft sound which dre