e to suggestion!" said the Warden, still
obstinately keeping his seat.

"You think she is too flighty, that she has too little power of
concentration," suggested Lady Dashwood, with a sting in her voice. "You
must try: come, Jim! I want to get some rest, I'm very tired."

She did, indeed, look hollow-eyed, and seeing this he rose and threw his
cigar into the fire. So this was the first thing he had to do as an
engaged man: he had to prevent his future wife from disturbing the
household. He had to distract her attention from absurd fears, he had to
impose his will upon her. Such a relationship between them, the husband
and wife that were to be, would be a relationship that he did not wish
to have with any one whom he ought to respect, much less any one whom he
ought to love.

The errand on which he was going was a repulsive one. If even a faint
trace of romantic appreciation of the girl's beauty had survived in him,
it would have vanished now. What he was going to do seemed like a denial
of her identity, and yet it seemed necessary to do it. Had he still much
of that "pity" left for her that had impelled him to offer her a home?

They left the library and, as they passed the curtained door of the
Warden's bedroom, Lady Dashwood said, "You'll go to bed afterwards,
Jim?"

She had spoken a moment ago of her own fatigue as if it was important.
She had now forgotten it. Her mind was never occupied for many moments
with herself, she was now back again at her old habit, thinking of him.
He was tired. No wonder, worn out with worries, of his own making, alas!

"Yes," said the Warden, "yes, dear."

The lights in the hall were still burning, and he turned them out from
the wall by the head of the staircase. Then they went up the short steps
into the corridor. Lady Dashwood's room was at the end.

At the door of her room Lady Dashwood paused and listened, and turned
round to her brother as if she were going to say something.

"What?" whispered the Warden, bending his head.

"Oh, nothing!" said Lady Dashwood, as if exasperated with her own
thoughts. Then she opened the door and went in, followed by the Warden.

The room was not spacious, and the canopied bedstead looked too massive
for the room. It had stood there through the reign of four of the
Wardens, and Lady Dashwood had kept it religiously. Gwen was propped up
on pillows at one side of it, looking out of her luminous eyes with
great self-pity. Her dark hair was di