well favoured young actor who shared her
thrills of elation seemed to permeate the atmosphere about her. He and
Feather together at times achieved the effect, between raids, of waiting
impatiently for a performance and feeling themselves ill treated by the
long delays between the acts.

"Are we growing callous, or are we losing our wits through living at
such high temperature?" the Duchess asked. "There's a delirium in the
air. Among those who are not shuddering in cellars there are some who
seem possessed by a sort of light insanity, half defiance, half excited
curiosity. People say exultantly, 'I had a perfectly splendid view of
the last Zepp!' A mother whose daughter was paying her a visit said to
her, 'I wish you could have seen the Zepps while you were here. It is
such an experience.'"

"They have not been able to bring about the wholesale disaster Germany
hoped for and when nothing serious happens there is a relieved feeling
that the things are futile after all," said Coombe. "When the results
are tragic they must be hushed up as far as is possible to prevent
panic."

* * * * *

Dowie faithfully sent him her private bulletin. Her first fears of peril
had died away, but her sense of mystification had increased and was more
deeply touched with awe. She opened certain windows every night and felt
that she was living in the world of supernatural things. Robin's eyes
sometimes gave her a ghost of a shock when she came upon her sitting
alone with her work in her idle hands. But supported by the testimony of
such realities as breakfasts, long untiring walks and unvarying blooming
healthfulness, she thanked God hourly.

"Doctor Benton says plain that he has never had such a beautiful case
and one that promised so well," she wrote. "He says she's as strong as a
young doe bounding about on the heather. What he holds is that it's
natural she should be. He is a clever gentleman with some wonderful
comforting new ideas about things, my lord. And he tells me I need not
look forward with dread as perhaps I had been doing."

Robin herself wrote to Coombe--letters whose tender-hearted
comprehension of what he was doing always held the desire to surround
him with the soothing quiet he had so felt when he was with her. What
he discovered was that she had been born of the elect,--the women who
know what to say, what to let others say and what to beautifully leave
unsaid. Her unconscious genius wa