ou are wanted on the telephone, miss,"
she hardly waited to hear the end of the sentence but flew past him to
the telephone stand and snatched up the instrument.

"Hello! Hello! That you, Penny? . . . Yes, of _course_ it's Nan!
Oh, my dear, I'm so glad you're back! Listen. I want to run up to
town for a few days. . . . Yes. Roger's away. They're all
away. . . . You can put me up? To-morrow? Thanks awfully,
Penny. . . . Yes, Waterloo. At 4.16. Good-bye. Give my love to
Ralph. . . . Good-bye."

She hung up the receiver and, returning to the dining-room, made a
pretence of finishing her lunch. Afterwards, with as much composure as
she could muster up--seeing that she wanted to dance and sing out of
pure happiness--she informed Morton that she had been called away
suddenly to London and would require the car early the next morning to
take her to the station. Whatever curiosity Morton may have felt
concerning this unexpected announcement, he concealed it admirably,
merely replying with his usual imperturbability: "Very good, miss."

"I'm leaving a letter for Mr. Trenby--to explain. See that he has it
as soon as he gets back to-morrow."

And once again Morton answered respectfully:

"Very good, miss."

The writing of the letter did not occupy much time. She reflected that
she must take one of two courses. Either she must write him at length,
explaining everything--and somehow she felt it would be impossible to
explain to Roger her desperate need for flight, for a respite from
things as they were--or she must leave a brief note merely stating that
she had gone away. She decided on the latter and after several
abortive attempts, which found their ultimate fate in the fire, she
achieved the following telegraphic epistle:

"DEAR ROGER,--Have gone to town. Stopping with Penelope.--NAN."

Afterwards she packed with gleeful hands. It seemed too good to be
true that in twenty-four hours she would actually find herself back in
London--away from this gloomy, tree-girdled house with its depressing
atmosphere both outside and in, away from Lady Gertrude's scathing
tongue and Isobel's two-edged speeches, and, above all, secure for a
time from Roger's tumultuous love-making and his unuttered demand for
so much more than she could ever give him.

She craved for the rush and bustle of London, for the play that might
keep her from thinking, the music which should minister to her soul,
and, more than all,