o me a year ago----"

She waited a moment: "Then, Laurence, the next day, when Sophy thought I
had got over the journey to London," Peggy smiled at him a little
whimsical smile, "she told me that she thought I ought to know--it was
her duty to tell me--that I had heart disease, and that, though I should
probably live a long time, it was possible I might die at any
moment----"

A sudden wrath filled the dark, sensitive face of the man bending over
her.

"What nonsense!" he exclaimed with angry decision. "What will the
doctors say next, I wonder! I wish to God you would make up your mind,
Peggy, once and for all, never to see a doctor again! I beg of you, if
only for my sake, to promise me that you will not go again to any doctor
till I give you permission to do so. You don't know what I went through
five years ago when one of those charlatans declared that he would not
answer for the consequences if you didn't winter South, and--and Tom
would not let you go!"

He paused, and then added more gently, "And yet nothing happened--you
were none the worse for spending that winter in cold Leicestershire!"

"Yes, that's true," she answered submissively, "I will make you the
promise you ask, Laurence. I daresay I have been foolish in going so
often to doctors; I don't know that they have ever done me much good."

His eyes, having now become quite accustomed to the dim light, suddenly
seemed to see in her face a slight change; a look of fatigue and
depression had crept over her mouth. He told himself with a pang that
after all she was a delicate, fragile human being--or was it the blue
shade which threw a strange pallor on the face he was scrutinising with
such deep, wistful tenderness?

He bent over her and tucked the rug round her feet.

"Turn round and try to go to sleep," he whispered. "It's a long, long
journey by this train. I'll wake you in good time before we get to
Dorgival."

She turned, as he told her, obediently, and then, acting on a sudden
impulse, she pulled him down once more to her, and kissed him as a child
might have done. "Good night," he said, "good night, my
love--'enchanting, noble little Peggy!'"

A smile lit up her face radiantly. It was a long, long time since
Vanderlyn had last uttered the charming lines first quoted by him very
early in their acquaintance, when he had seen her among her own people,
one of a band of joyous English boys and girls celebrating a family
festival--the golden weddi