ith her.

The day was still grey, with sweepy rain-clouds on the
sea--gruesome, objectionable. It was a prolongation of yesterday.
Well, despair was no good, and being miserable was no good either.
She got no satisfaction out of either mood. The only thing to do was
to act: seize hold of life and wring its neck.

She took the time-table that hung in the hall: the time-table, that
magic carpet of today. When in doubt, _move_. This was the maxim.
Move. Where to?

Another click of a resolution. She would wire to Ciccio and meet
him--where? York--Leeds--Halifax--? She looked up the places in the
time-table, and decided on Leeds. She wrote out a telegram, that she
would be at Leeds that evening. Would he get it in time? Chance it.

She hurried off and sent the telegram. Then she took a little
luggage, told the people of her house she would be back next day,
and set off. She did not like whirling in the direction of
Lancaster. But no matter.

She waited a long time for the train from the north to come in. The
first person she saw was Tommy. He waved to her and jumped from the
moving train.

"I say!" he said. "So glad to see you! Ciccio is with me. Effie
insisted on my coming to see you."

There was Ciccio climbing down with the bag. A sort of servant! This
was too much for her.

"So you came with your valet?" she said, as Ciccio stood with the
bag.

"Not a bit," said Tommy, laying his hand on the other man's
shoulder. "We're the best of friends. I don't carry bags because my
heart is rather groggy. I say, nurse, excuse me, but I like you
better in uniform. Black doesn't suit you. You don't _mind_--"

"Yes, I do. But I've only got black clothes, except uniforms."

"Well look here now--! You're not going on anywhere tonight, are
you?"

"It is too late."

"Well now, let's turn into the hotel and have a talk. I'm acting
under Effie's orders, as you may gather--"

At the hotel Tommy gave her a letter from his wife: to the tune
of--don't marry this Italian, you'll put yourself in a wretched
hole, and one wants to avoid getting into holes. _I know_--concluded
Effie, on a sinister note.

Tommy sang another tune. Ciccio was a lovely chap, a rare chap, a
treat. He, Tommy, could quite understand any woman's wanting to
marry him--didn't agree a bit with Effie. But marriage, you know,
was so final. And then with this war on: you never knew how things
might turn out: a foreigner and all that. And then--you won't mind