he hall door as Prothero
closed it.

And then little Laura, outside, heard a cry as of a thing trapped, and
betrayed, and utterly abandoned.

"I can't go," she cried. "He thinks I'm leaving him--that I'm never
coming back. He always thinks it."

"You know," said Nina, "he never thinks anything for more than five
minutes."

"I know--but----"

Nina caught her by the shoulder. "You stupid Kiddy, you must forget him
when he isn't there."

"But he _is_ there," said Laura. "I can't leave him."

Between her eyes and Prothero's there passed a look of eternal patience
and despair. Rose saw it. She saw how it was with them, and she saw what
she could do. She turned back to the door.

"You go," she said. "I'll stay with him."

From the set of her little chin you saw that protest and argument were
useless.

"I can take care of him," she said. "I know how."

And as she said it there came into her face a soft flame of joy. For
Tanqueray was looking at her, and smiling as he used to smile in the
days when he adored her. He was thinking in this moment how adorable she
was.

"You may as well let her," he said. "She isn't happy if she can't take
care of somebody."

And, as they wondered at her, the door opened and closed again on Rose
and her white blouse.

XXVII

They found Brodrick waiting for them at the station. Imperturbable, on
the platform, he seemed to be holding in leash the Wendover train whose
engines were throbbing for flight.

Prothero suffered, painfully, the inevitable introduction. Tanqueray had
told him that if he still wanted work on the papers Brodrick was his
man. Brodrick had an idea. On the long hill-road going up from Wendover
station Prothero, at Tanqueray's suggestion, tried to make himself as
civil as possible to Miss Holland.

Tentatively and with infinite precautions Jane laid before him
Brodrick's idea. The War Correspondent of the "Morning Telegraph" was
coming home invalided from Manchuria. She understood that his place
would be offered to Mr. Prothero. Would he care to take it?

He did not answer.

She merely laid the idea before him to look at. He must weigh, she said,
the dangers and the risks. From the expression of his face she gathered
that these were the last things he would weigh.

And yet he hesitated. She looked at him. His eyes were following the
movements of Laura Gunning where, well in front of them, the marvellous
Kiddy, in the first wildness of her release