ally pushed forward by a fond, tactless mother,
and as if, mildly shaking her hand, the guest before whom she was
displayed showed her, by kind, inattentive eyes, that he was paying very
little attention to her. Mr. Drew put her at her ease and Tante
embarrassed her. She became, even, a little grateful to Mr. Drew. But
now, aware of this strange bond, it was more difficult to talk to him
when they were alone and when, once or twice, he met her in the garden
or house, she made always an excuse to leave him. She and Mr. Drew could
have nothing to say to each other when Tante was not there.

One evening, returning to Les Solitudes after a walk along the cliffs,
Karen found that tea was over, as she had intended that it should be,
Tante and Mr. Drew not yet come in from their motoring, and Mrs. Talcott
safely busied in the garden. There was not one of them with whom she
could be happily alone, and she was glad to find the morning-room empty.
Mrs. Talcott had left the kettle boiling for her on the tea-table and
the small tea-pot, which they used in their usual _tete-a-tete_, ready,
and Karen made herself a cup.

She was tired. She sat down, when she had had her tea, near the window
and looked out over the ranged white flowers growing in their low white
pots on the window-seat, at the pale sea and sky. She sat quietly, her
cheek on one hand, the other in her lap, and from time to time a great
involuntary sigh lifted her breast. It seemed nearer peace than fear,
this mood of immeasurable, pale sorrow. It folded her round like the
twilight falling outside.

The room was dim when she heard the sound of the returning motor and she
sat on, believing that here she would be undisturbed. Tante rarely came
to the morning-room. But it was Tante who presently appeared, wearing
still her motoring cloak and veil, the nun-like veil bound round her
head. Karen thought, as she rose, and looked at her, that she was like
one of the ghost-like white flowers. And there was no joy for her in
seeing her. She seemed to be part of the sadness.

She turned and closed the door with some elaboration, and as she came
nearer Karen recognized in her eyes the piteous look of quelled
watchfulness.

"You are sitting here, alone, my child?" she said, laying her hand, but
for a moment only, on Karen's shoulder. Karen had resumed her seat, and
Tante moved away at once to take up a vase of flowers from the
mantelpiece, smell the flowers, and set it back. "W