w, and stood looking out at the garden with its
grandiose backing of hill and climbing wood, and the strong broken
masses of the cedar trees--the oldest it was said in England--which
flanked it on either side. Lady Laura was, in truth, only just beginning
to realise their misfortunes. It had seemed to her impossible that such
wealth as theirs should positively give out; that there should be
nothing left but her miserable two thousand a year; that something
should not turn up to save them from this preposterous necessity of
leaving Flood. When Douglas came home, she had thrown herself on her
clever son, confident that he would find a way out, and his sombre
verdict on the hopelessness of the situation had filled her with terror.
How could they live with nothing but the London house to call their own?
How could they? Why couldn't they sell off the land, and keep the house
and the park? Then they would still be the Fallodens of Flood. It was
stupid--simply stupid--to be giving up everything like this.

So day by day she wearied her husband and son by her lamentations,
which were like those of some petted animal in distress. And every now
and then she had moments of shrinking terror--of foreboding--fearing she
knew not what. Her husband seemed to her changed. Why wouldn't he take
her advice? Why wouldn't Douglas listen to her? If only her father had
been alive, or her only brother, they could have helped her. But she had
nobody--nobody--and Arthur and Douglas would do this horrible thing.

Her husband watched her, half smiling--his shrunken face flushed, his
eyes full of a curious excitement. She had grown stout in the last five
years, poor Laura!--she had lost her youth before the crash came. But
she was still very pleasant to look upon, with her plentiful fair hair,
and her pretty mouth--her instinct for beautiful dress--and her soft
appealing manner. He suddenly envisaged her in black--with a plain white
collar and cuffs, and something white on her hair. Then vehemently
shaking off his thought he rose and went to her.

"Dear--didn't Duggy want you to ask somebody for the shoot? I thought I
heard him mention somebody?'

"That was ages ago. He doesn't want anybody asked now," said Lady Laura
resentfully. "He can't understand why you want a party."

"I thought he said something about Lady Constance Bledlow?"

"That was in June!" cried Lady Laura. "He certainly wouldn't let me ask
her, as things are."

"Have you any i