hat would hurt most damnably, and
that he would be in a bad temper for the rest of the evening and would
wonder why--

So, with a muttered word he went out and up to his dressing-room, had a
bath, and then lay reading with serious brows _The Winning Post_ until
his man told him that it was time to dress.

Slowly and with the absorbed care that he always gave to these
preparations he made himself ready for the Beaminster dinner.

CHAPTER V

LIZZIE'S JOURNEY--I

"So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making;
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter
In sleep a king; but waking no such matter."

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

I

During this year Lizzie Rand was glad that she had so much to do. As she
had never until now given the romance in her an opportunity for freedom,
so had she never before realized the amazing invasion upon life that
that same romance might threaten.

Indeed by the early summer months of 1899 "threaten" was no longer an
honest definition, for, now this same Romance had invaded, had
conquered, had confronted the very citadels of Lizzie's heart, citadels
never surveyed nor challenged at any time before.

Nevertheless, even now, Portland Place noticed no change in Miss Rand.
Norris, Mrs. Newton, Dorchester would still, had they been challenged,
have protested that Miss Rand had no conception of the softer, more
sentimental side of life; she was there for discipline and order--Norris
had been known to be led a fearful dance by young women "time and
again"--Mrs. Newton had passionately adored the late Mr. Newton until a
sudden chill had carried him to St. Agnes, Bare Street Cemetery, whither
Mrs. Newton, every Sunday, did still make her stately pilgrimage--even
Dorchester had once, it was said, paid grim attentions to a soldier who
had, unhappily, found in some fluffy young woman a more hopeful comfort.

Here, above and below stairs, passion had marked its victims ... Miss
Rand only could have felt no touch of it.

She sometimes wondered at herself that she could so calmly and
dispassionately separate the one life from the other. Never, within that
neat stern room at Portland Place, was there a shudder or sudden
invading thrill at some flashing recollection or imagination. To her
work every nerve, every energy was given. Now, indeed, more than ever
before in her experience of it did 104 Portland Place demand her
presence. I