eat windows in flat rows, and
lofty rooms made beautiful by the delicate tracery of the ceilings. It
has neither wings nor embellishments but stood squarely in its gardens,
looking southwards to the Downs. The dining-room was upon the east side,
between that room and the hall was the library, of which the window
faced the north. Mrs. Croyle's bedroom, however, was in the south-west
corner and from its windows one could see the smoke of the train as it
climbed from Midhurst to the Cocking tunnel, and the gap where the road
runs through to Singleton.

"You won't be going to bed yet, madam, I suppose," said Jenny.

She had not troubled to bring upstairs into the room the book which she
had picked out at random from the stand that was lying on the hall
table.

"No, Jenny. I will ring for you when I want you," said Stella.

Stella was dispirited. Her week was nearly at an end. To-morrow would be
the last day and she had gained nothing, it seemed, by all her care.
Harry was kind--oh, ever so much kinder than in the old days when they
had been together--more considerate, more thoughtful. But the skies of
passion are stormily red, and so effulgent that one walks in gold.
Consideration, thoughtfulness--what were these pale things worth against
one spurt of fire? Besides, there was the ball to-night. He would dance
with _her_, would seek the dim open spaces of the lawns, the dark
shadows of the great elms, with her--with Joan.

"I'll ring for you, Jenny," she repeated, as her maid stood doubtfully
by the door. "I am quite right."

"Very well, madam."

Stella Croyle's eyes were drawn when she was left alone to that cupboard
in which her dressing-bag was stowed away. But she arrested them and
covered them with her hands.

"This is my last chance," she said to herself aloud in the anguish of
her spirit. If it failed, there was nothing in front of her but a
loneliness which each year must augment. Youth and high spirits or the
assumption of high spirits--these she must have if she were to keep her
place in her poor little circle--and both were slipping from her fast.
"This is my last chance." She stood in front of her mirror in her
dancing frock, her dark hair exquisitely dressed, her face hauntingly
wistful. After all, she was beautiful. Why shouldn't she win? Jenny
thought that she could.

At that moment Jenny was slipping noiselessly along a corridor to the
northern side of the house. The lights were all off; a pencil o