Val about his ribbon. Oh, I don't know,"
said Isabel vaguely. Laura drew a breath of relief. "I was sorry
you made him wear it. But he'd cut his hand off to please you,
darling. You don't really realize the way you can make Val do
anything you like."

"Nonsense," said Laura, but with an indulgent smile, which was
her way of saying that it was true but did not signify. She was
no coquette, but she preferred to create an agreeable impression.
Always in France, where women are the focus of social interest,
there had been men who did as Laura Selincourt pleased, and the
incense which Val alone continued to burn was not ungrateful to
her altar. "As if Val would mind about a little thing like
that."

Isabel shook her head. "Perhaps you weren't attending. Major
Clowes was very down on him for wearing it--chaffing him, of
course, but chaffing half in earnest: a snowball with a stone in
it. Naturally Val wasn't going to say you made him--"

"No, but Lawrence did: or I should have cut in myself."

"Yes, after a minute, he interfered, and then Major Clowes shut
up, but it was all rather--rather queer, and I'm sure Val hated
it. You won't make him do it again, will you? Val's so odd.
Laura--don't tell any one--I sometimes think Val's very
unhappy."

"Val, unhappy? You fanciful child, this is worse than Tom
Wallis! What should make Val unhappy? He might be dull," said
Laura ruefully. "Life at Wanhope isn't exciting! But he's keen
on his work and very fond of the country. Val is one of the most
contented people I know."

A shadow fell over Isabel's face, the veil that one draws down
when one has offered a confidence to hands that are not ready to
receive it. "Then it must be all my imagination." She abandoned
the subject as rapidly as she had introduced it. "O! dear, I am
sleepy." She stretched herself and yawned, opening her mouth wide
and shutting it with a little snap like a kitten. "I was up at
six to give Val his breakfast, and I've been running about all
day, what with the school treat next week, and Jimmy's new
night-shirts that I had to get the stuff for and cut them out,
and choir practice, and Fanny taking it into her head to make
rhubarb jam. How can London people stay up till twelve or one
o'clock every night? But of course they don't get up at six."

"Have a snooze in my hammock," suggested Laura. "I see Barry
coming, which means that Bernard is going off and I shall have to
run away and l