ld
place, and my wife--"

"Naturally." She interrupted him gently. "Naturally, she wishes to live
here. I owe you no grudge for that," smiling. "When--how soon do you
think of coming? I will make my arrangements accordingly."

"We should like to come as soon as possible, really," he admitted
reluctantly. "I have the chance of leasing Durward Park, if the tenant
can have what practically amounts to immediate possession. And of
course, in the circumstances, I should be glad to get the Durward
property off my hands."

"Of course you would." Sara nodded understandingly. "If you could let me
have a few days in which to find some rooms--"

"No, no," he broke in eagerly. "I want you still to regard Barrow as
your headquarters--to stay on here with us until you have fixed some
permanent arrangement that suits you."

She was touched by the kindly suggestion; nevertheless, she shook her
head with decision.

"It is more than kind of you to think of such a thing," she said
gratefully. "But it is quite out of the question. Why, I am not even a
cousin several times removed! I have no claim at all. Mrs. Durward--"

"Will be delighted. She asked me to be sure and tell you so. Please,
Miss Tennant, don't refuse me. Don't"--persuasively--"oblige us to feel
more brutal interlopers than we need."

Still she hesitated.

"If I were sure--" she began doubtfully.

"You may be--absolutely sure. There!"--with a sigh of relief--"that's
settled. But, as I can see you're the kind of person whose conscientious
scruples will begin to worry you the moment I'm gone"--he smiled--"my
wife will write to you. Promise not to run away in the meantime?"

"I promise," said Sara. She held out her hand. "And--thank you." Her
eyes, suddenly misty, supplemented the baldness of the words.

He took the outstretched hand in a close, friendly grip.

"Good. That's the car, I think," as the even purring of a motor sounded
from outside. "I must be off. But it's only _au revoir_, remember."

She walked with him to the door, and stood watching until the car was
lost in sight round a bend of the drive. Then, as she turned back into
the hall, the emptiness of the house seemed to close down about her all
at once, like a pall.

Amid the manifold duties and emergencies of the last few days she had
hardly had time to realize the immensity of her loss. Practical matters
had forcibly obtruded themselves upon her consideration--the necessity
of providing accommod