cious of trifling things.
She even noticed what very black eyebrows he had and how--as always,
when he was either angry or deeply moved--the veins in his forehead
stood out in a strongly-marked V.

"It was best, I think," Jan said, and even to herself her voice sounded
like the voice of a stranger. "She would have been very unhappy if she
had lived."

Peter started at the cool, hard tones, and looked at her. Then, simply
and naturally, like a child, he took her hand and held it; and there was
that in the human contact, in the firm, comfortable clasp, that seemed
to break something down in Jan, and all at once she felt weak and faint
and trembling. She leaned her head against the pillows piled high in the
corner where Fay had always rested. The electric light in the verandah
seemed suddenly to recede to an immense distance and became a tiny
luminous pin-head, like a far lone star.

She heard Peter moving about in the dining-room behind and clinking
things, but she felt quite incapable of going to see what he was doing
or of trying to be hospitable--besides, it was his house, he knew where
things were, and she was so tired.

And then he was standing over her, holding a tumbler against her
chattering teeth.

"Drink it," he said, and, though his voice sounded far away, it was firm
and authoritative. "Quick; don't pretend you can't swallow, for you
can."

He tipped the glass, and something wet and cold ran over her chin:
anything was better than that, and she tried to drink. As she did so
she realised she was thirsty, drank it all eagerly and gasped.

"Have you had anything to eat all day?" the dominating voice went on; it
sounded much nearer now.

"I can't remember," she said, feebly. "Oh, why did you give me all that
brandy, it's made me so muzzy and confused, and there's so much I ought
to see to."

"You rest a bit first--you'll be all right presently."

Someone lifted her by the knees and put the whole of her on the sofa. It
was very comfortable; she was not so cold now. She lay quite still and
closed her eyes. She had not had a real night's sleep since she reached
Bombay. Fay was always restless and nervous, and Jan had not had her
clothes off for forty-eight hours. The long strain was over, there was
nothing to watch and wait for now. She would do as that voice said, rest
for a few minutes.

There was a white chuddah shawl folded on the end of the sofa. Fay had
liked it spread over her knees, for she was