rom India. My wife is no better, and I'm
going out to bring her home."

"I'm sorry she's no better," said Nan mechanically.

He murmured a formal word of thanks and then once more the dreadful
silence hemmed them round. A hesitating knock sounded on the door and,
after a moment's discreet delay, Sandy's freckled face peered round the
doorway.

"I'm afraid you must leave now, Mallory, if you're to catch the up
train," he said apologetically. "Kitty is here, waiting to drive you
to the station."

Together they all three went out into the drive where Kitty was sitting
behind the wheel of the car, Eliza perched skittishly on the rubbered
step, talking with her. Aunt Eliza's opinion of "that red-headed body"
had altered considerably during the course of the last year.

"And mind an' look in on your way back," she insisted.

Kitty nodded.

"I will. I want to talk to Nan."

"Ye'll no' be too hard on her?" besought Eliza.

Kitty laughed.

"Aunt Eliza dear, you're the biggest fraud I know! Your severity's
just a pretence,"--bending forward to kiss her--"and a very thin one at
that."

Then she greeted Nan precisely as though nothing had happened since
they had last met, and, with a handshake all round, Mallory stepped
into the car beside her and was whirled away to the station.

"It seems years since yesterday morning," said Nan, when, after Kitty's
return from the station, they found themselves alone together.

For once Kitty had diverged from her usual principle, and a little jar
of red stuff was responsible for the colour in her cheeks. Her eyes
still blenched at the remembrance of that day and night's anxiety which
she had endured alone.

"Yes," she acquiesced simply. "It seems years." And then, bit by bit,
she drew from Nan the whole story of her flight from Mallow and of the
violent scene which had preceded it, when Roger had so ruthlessly
destroyed the portrait.

"I don't think--Peter--will ever forgive me," went on Nan, with a quiet
hopelessness in her voice that was infinitely touching. "He would
hardly speak to me."

The coolly aloof man from whom she had parted an hour ago did not seem
as though he could ever have loved her. He had judged and condemned
her as harshly as might a stranger. He was a stranger--this new,
stonily indifferent Peter who had said very little but, in the few
words he had spoken, had seemed to banish her out of his life and heart
for ever.

"My dear"--Kitty's