y.

A sudden little anxious pang had all at once stabbed her somewhere near
the region of the heart. Would that be the effect of that afternoon's
meeting? Most assuredly she hoped it would not be, and equally assuredly
she had no idea she was hoping it; verily, her feeling towards Antony was
one of mingled anger, indignation, and mortified pride.

Once more there was a silence,--a silence in which Miss Tibbutt sat
stirring her coffee, and looking towards the reflection of the sunset sky
seen through the branches of the trees opposite. Suddenly she spoke,
dismayed apology in her voice.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry, I quite forgot. A letter came for you this
afternoon. I put it down on the little round table in the drawing-room
window, meaning to give it to you when you came in. But you went straight
to your room, and so I forgot it. I will get it at once."

"Nonsense," said the Duchessa lightly, "I will get it. I don't suppose
for an instant that it is important."

She got up and went across the lawn. In a minute or two she returned, an
open letter in her hand.

"It's from Trix," she announced as she sat down again, "She wants to know
if she can come down here at the beginning of August."

Miss Tibbutt literally beamed.

"How delightful!" she exclaimed. "Trix has never stayed with you here.
You will like having her."

"Dear Trix," said the Duchessa.

"I do so enjoy Trix," remarked Miss Tibbutt fervently.

"So do most people," smiled the Duchessa.

CHAPTER XVIII

A DREAM AND OTHER THINGS

It is perfectly amazing to what a degree the physical conditions of the
atmosphere appear to be bound up with one's own mental atmosphere. In the
more ordinary nature of things, the physical conditions will act on the
mental, sending your mind up to the point marked gaiety when the sun
shines, dropping it down to despair--or, at any rate, down to
dulness--when the skies are leaden. Also, in more extreme cases, the
mental conditions will act on the physical, if not actually, at least
with so good a show of reality as to appear genuine. If you are
thoroughly unhappy--no mere, light, passing depression, mind you--it
matters not at all how brilliant the sunshine may be, it is nothing but
grey fog for all you see of it. If, on the other hand, you are in the
seventh heaven of joy, the grey clouds are suffused with a golden light
of radiance. But these are extreme cases.

It was an extreme case with Antony. Despite the