gentle
dew. She was found out; the terrible female instinct was going to detect
her, then to proclaim her guilt. However, bravely enough, she braced
herself up and held out her hand.

'Oh, Vic, why haven't you written to me for, let me see, three years,
isn't it?'

'I've been away, abroad,' said Victoria slowly. She seemed to float in
another world. Molly was talking vigorously; Victoria's brain,
feverishly active, was making up the story which would have to be told
when Molly's cheerful egotism had had its way.

'Don't let's stay here on the doorstep,' she interrupted, 'let's go
upstairs and have tea. You haven't had tea yet?'

'I should love to,' said Molly, squeezing her arm. 'Then you can tell me
about yourself.'

Seated at a little table Molly finished her simple story. She had
married an army chaplain, but he had given up his work in India and was
now rector of Pontyberis in Wales. They had two children. Molly was up
in town merely to break the journey, as she was going down to stay with
her aunt in Kent. Oh, yes, she was very happy, her husband was very
well.

'They're talking of making him Dean of Ffwr,' she added with unction.
'But that's enough about me. How have you been getting on, Vic? I
needn't ask how you are; one only has to look at you.' Molly's eyes
roved over her friend's beautiful young face, her clothes which she
appraised with the skill of those poor who are learned in the fashions.

'I? Oh, I'm very well,' said Victoria hysterically.

'Yes, but how have you been getting on? Weren't you talking about having
to work when you came over?'

'Yes, but I've been lucky . . . a week after I got here an aunt of my
mother's died of whom I never even heard before. They told me at Dick's
lawyers a month later, and you wouldn't believe it, there was no will
and I came in for . . . well something quite comfortable.'

Molly put out her hand and stroked Victoria's.

'I'm so glad,' she said. . . . 'Oh, you don't know how hard it is to
have to work for your living. I see something of it in Wales. Oh, if you
only knew. . . .'

Victoria pressed her lips together, as if about to cry or laugh.

'But what did you do then? You only wrote once. You didn't tell me?'

'No, I only heard a month after, you know. Oh, I had a lot to do. I
travelled a lot. I've been in America a good deal. In fact my home is in
. . . Alabama.' She plunged for Alabama, feeling sure that New York was
unsafe.

'Oh, how nice,' sa