n't it?'

Afterwards, when Miss Abingdon used to hear a great deal about Sir
Nigel and Mrs. Avory, and when many regrettable things were said
concerning two people to whom, at the best of times, life was a little
bit difficult, she would seem to see the young man, with his delicate
face and his head bound up with white linen, lying on the frilled
pillow of the great canopied bed, and the recollection would come back
to her of the tones in which he had said, 'It's so often the good ones
that have the hardest lines,' and Miss Abingdon never failed in loyalty
to Toffy, and believed in him to the very end.

She rose now and bade him good-bye, and then she glanced at the open
Bible on the counterpane and decided once more that young people were
inexplicable, and she clung to her key-basket with a feeling of
security, and, holding it carefully in her hand, went downstairs again.

CHAPTER IV

Jane, meanwhile, had walked over to Bowshott to see Mrs. Ogilvie and to
tell her the news of Toffy's motor-car accident, and to explain why
Peter was delayed. She came into the drawing-room, with its long
mirrors in their gilded frames, its satin couches and heaped-up
flowering plants, and huge windows looking on to the scrupulous gardens
and park. She walked in the shortest dress that a merciful fashion
allows, a loose shirt hung boy-like on her slender figure, and a
motor-cap, with the brim well pulled down over her eyes, covered her
head. She shook hands and regretted inwardly that Mrs. Ogilvie did not
like being kissed, although disclaiming even to herself that her
distaste in this respect had anything to do with rouge and powder. She
sat down on a low chair by the window with the fearlessness of one
whose complexion is not a matter of anxiety, and she told Mrs. Ogilvie
the story of the disaster.

'Toffy's so awfully unlucky,' said Jane, with genuine sympathy showing
in her eyes and voice; 'and the doctor says his hand will be bad for a
week at least.'

'Is there such a thing as bad luck?' said Mrs. Ogilvie, shrugging her
shoulders.

'You can't say Toffy gets his deserts!' pleaded Jane. 'He is always in
debt, and his horses always come to grief, and there ought to be a
syndicate formed to buy up all the shares that Toffy sells, because it
is certain to mean that the market is going up. I think he must have
been born under an unlucky star.'

'I used to get a lot of amusement from reading the _Iliad_ of Homer,'
sa