ouldn't help it."

"Well--it seems a pity. But I suppose clergymen can't choose where
they'll live."

She looked away from him. Then, as if she were trying to divert her
from the trail he followed, "You forget--she's been starving herself.
Isn't that enough?"

"Not in her case. You see, she isn't ill because she's been starving
herself. She's been starving herself because she's ill. It's a
symptom. The trouble is not that she starves herself--but that she's
been starved."

"I know. I know."

"If you could get her back to that place where she was happy--"

"I can't. She can never go back there. Besides, it wouldn't be any
good if she did."

He smiled. "Are you quite sure?"

"Certain."

"Does she know it?"

"No. She never knew it. But she _would_ know it if she went back."

"That's why you took her away?"

She hesitated again. "Yes."

Rowcliffe looked grave.

"I see. That's rather unfortunate."

He said to himself: "She doesn't take it in _yet_. I don't see how I'm
to tell her."

To her he said: "Well, I'll send the medicine along to-night."

As the door closed behind Rowcliffe, Mary appeared on the stairs.

"Gwenda," she said, "Ally wants you. She wants to know what he said."

"He said nothing."

"You look as if he'd said a great deal."

"He said nothing that she doesn't know."

"He told her there was nothing the matter with her except that she'd
been starving herself."

"He told me she'd been starved."

"I don't see the difference."

"Well," said Gwenda. "_He_ did."

* * * * *

That night the Vicar scowled over his supper. And before it was ended
he broke loose.

"Which of you two sent for Dr. Rowcliffe?"

"I did," said Gwenda.

Mary said nothing.

"And what--do you--mean by doing such a thing without consulting me?"

"I mean," said Gwenda quietly, "that he should see Alice."

"And _I_ meant--most particularly--that he shouldn't see her. If I'd
wanted him to see her I'd have gone for him myself."

"When it was a bit too late," said Gwenda.

His blue eyes dilated as he looked at her.

"Do you suppose I don't know what's the matter with her as well as he
does?"

As he spoke the stiff, straight moustache that guarded his mouth
lifted, showing the sensual redness and fulness of the lips.

And of this expression on her father's face Gwenda understood nothing,
divined nothing, knew nothing but that she loathed it.

"You may know what's the m