id he?" interrupted Nan. "That was--rather nice of him, considering
how I'd treated him."

"Do you still mean to marry the fellow?" asked Barry, bluntly.

"Yes." The monosyllable fell slowly but quite convincingly. "Why
hasn't he been to see me lately?" she added after a moment.

"Because I asked him not to," answered Kitty. "He stayed in London
till you were out of danger. After that I bustled him off home, and
told him I should only bring you down to Mallow if he could induce Lady
Gertrude to behave decently to you."

"You seem to have ordered him about pretty considerably," remarked Nan
with a faint smile.

"Oh, he was quite meek with me," returned Kitty. "He had to be. I
told him his only chance was to keep away from you, to manage Lady
Gertrude properly, and not to worry you with letters."

"So that's why he hasn't written? I've wondered, sometimes."

Nan was silent for a time. Then she said quietly:

"You're a good pal, Kitten."

Followed a still longer pause. At last Kitty broke it reluctantly:

"I've something else to tell you."

Nan glanced up quickly, detecting some special significance in her
tones.

"What is it?" she asked.

Kitty made a gesture to her husband that he should leave them alone.
When he had gone:

"It's about Peter," she said, then paused unhappily.

"Yes. Go on. Peter and I are only friends now. We've--we've worked
up quite a presentable sort of friendship since my illness, you know.
What is there to tell me?"

"You know that Celia, his wife, has been out in India for some years.
Well--"

Nan's frail body stiffened suddenly.

"She's coming home?" she said swiftly.

Kitty nodded.

"Yes. She's been very ill with sunstroke. And she's ordered home as
soon as she is able to travel."

Nan made no answer for a moment. Then she said almost under her breath:

"Poor Peter!"

It was late in the afternoon when Peter came to pay his usual daily
visit. Kitty brought him into the room and vanished hastily, leaving
the two alone together.

"You know?" he said quietly.

Nan bent her head.

"Yes, I know," she answered. "Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry!" Adding, after
a pause: "Must you have her with you?"

"I must, dear."

"You'd be happier alone."

"Less unhappy, perhaps." He corrected her gently. "But one can't
always consider one's own personal wishes. I've a responsibility
towards Celia. She's my wife. And though she's been foolish and
treated life