e door, but ere he went to it he
turned aside and knocked peremptorily at another door.

He opened without waiting for a reply and entered a long, low-ceiled room
through which the rays of the afternoon sun were pouring. Isabel, lying
on a couch between fire and window, turned her head towards him.

"Haven't you started yet? Surely it is getting very late," she said in
her low, rather monotonous voice.

He came to her. "I prefer starting a bit late," he said. "You will have
tea ready when we return?"

"Certainly," she said.

He stood looking down at her intently. "Are you all right today?" he
asked abruptly.

A faint colour rose in her cheeks. "I am--as usual," she said.

"What does that mean?" Curtly he put the question. "Why don't you go out
more? Why don't you get old Lister to make you up a tonic?"

She smiled a little, but there was slight uneasiness behind her smile.
Her eyes had the remote look of one who watches the far horizon. "My dear
Eustace," she said, "_cui bono_?"

He stooped suddenly over her. "It is because you won't make the effort,"
he said, speaking with grim emphasis. "You're letting yourself go again,
I know; I've been watching you for the past week. And by heaven, Isabel,
you shan't do it! Scott may be fool enough to let you, but I'm not.
You've only been home a week, and you've been steadily losing ground ever
since you got back. What is it? What's the matter with you? Tell me what
is the matter!"

So insistent was his tone, so almost menacing his attitude, that Isabel
shrank from him with a gesture too swift to repress. The old pathetic
furtive look was in her eyes as she made reply.

"I am very sorry. I don't see how I can help it. I--I am getting old, you
know. That is the chief reason."

"You're talking nonsense, my dear girl." Impatiently Eustace broke in.
"You are just coming into your prime. I won't have you ruin your life
like this. Do you hear me? I won't. If you don't rouse yourself I will
find a means to rouse you. You are simply drifting now--simply drifting."

"But into my desired haven," whispered Isabel, with a piteous quiver of
the lips.

He straightened himself with a gesture of exasperation. "You are wasting
yourself over a myth, an illusion. On my soul, Isabel, what a wicked
waste it is! Have you forgotten the days when you and I roamed over the
world together? Have you forgotten Egypt and all we did there? Life was
worth having then."

"Ah! I thought so." Sh