soaring billow of his pride. He could not but feel for
Stella, who had passed through the same furnace. He could not but grieve
that the wondrous book of which he was racing through the first pages
had been closed for her by him. Might she not open it again, some time,
with another at her side?

"Wub, tell me what you have been doing all these years," she said.

He began the tale of them in the short, reluctant, colloquial phrases
which the English use to strip their achievements of any romantic
semblance until Millicent Splay sailed across the room and claimed him
for a table of bridge.

"He will be safer there," she said to herself.

"Yes, but she had to take him away," Stella's thoughts responded. She
was dangerous then in Millie Splay's judgment. The sweet flattery set
Stella smiling. She went up to her room rejoicing that she had chosen
that week to visit Rackham Park. She was playing a losing game, but she
did not know it.

Thus the very spirit of summer seemed to inform the gathering. Saturday
brought up no clouds to darken the clear sky. Harold Jupp and Dennis
Brown actually scored four nice wins at Gatwick on horses which, to
celebrate the week, miraculously ran to form. Miranda under these
conditions would have inevitably lost, but by another stroke of fortune
no horse running had any special blemish, name, colour or trick
calculated to inspire her. Sir Chichester was happy too, for he saw a
lady reporter write down his name in her notebook. So was Mr. Albany
Todd. For he met the Earl of Eltringham, with whom he had a passing
acquaintance; and his lordship, being complimented upon his gardens, of
which _Country Life_ had published an account, was moved to say in the
friendliest manner: "You must propose yourself for a week-end, Mr. Todd,
and see them."

As for Joan and Harry Luttrell, it mattered little where they were, so
that they were together. They walked in their own magical garden.

It fell to Martin Hillyard to look after Stella Croyle, and the task was
not difficult. She kept her eyes blindfold to what she did not wish to
see. She had a chance, she said to herself, recollecting her talk with
Harry last night, and the news of Joan which Jenny Prask had given to
her. She had a chance, if she walked delicately.

"Old associations--give them opportunity, and they renew their
strength," she thought. "Harry is afraid of them--that's all."

On the Monday evening Jenny Prask brought a fresh piece of