bubble, and I've no doubt she did. But it left a gap, as you said. I
ought to have seen the gap and tried to fill it."

Trix shook her head.

"You couldn't, Tibby, if the bubble were the colour I fancy. Only the
bubble itself, consolidated, could do that."

"Oh, my dear, you mean--?" said Miss Tibbutt.

"Just that," nodded Trix. "It was bound to happen some time. Pia is made
to give and receive love. She was too young when she married to know what
it really meant. And, well, think of those years of her married life."

"I thought of them for seven years," said Miss Tibbutt quietly. "You
don't think I've forgotten them now?"

Trix's eyes filled with quick tears.

"Of course you haven't. I didn't mean that. What I do mean is that I
suppose she thought she had got the real thing then, and all the young
happiness in it was destroyed in a moment. Then came those seven
terrible years. For an older woman perhaps there would have been a
self-sacrificing joy in them; for Pia, there was just the brave facing
of an obvious duty. She was splendid, of course she was splendid, but no
one could call it joy. Now, somehow, she's had a glimpse of what real
joy might be. And it has vanished again. I don't know how I know, but it's
true. I feel it in my bones."

Again there was a silence. Then:

"What can we do?" asked Miss Tibbutt simply.

Trix laughed, though her eyes were grave. "You, angel, can pray. Of
course I shall, too. But I'm going to do quite a lot of thinking, and
keeping my eyes open as well. And now I am going right round this
perfectly heavenly garden once more, and then, I suppose, it will be time
to dress for dinner."

Swinging herself off the table, she departed waving her hand to Miss
Tibbutt before she turned a corner by a yew hedge.

"Dear Trix," murmured Miss Tibbutt.

CHAPTER XX

MOONLIGHT AND THEORIES

The little party of two men and two women were assembled in the
drawing-room. Trix had not yet put in an appearance. But, then, the
dinner gong had not sounded. Trix invariably saved her reputation for
punctuality by appearing on the last stroke.

Miss Tibbutt and Father Dormer were sitting on the sofa; Pia was in an
armchair near the open window, and Doctor Hilary was standing on the
hearthrug. His dress clothes seemed to increase his size, and he did not
look perfectly at home in them; or, perhaps, it was merely the fact that
he was so seldom seen in them. Doctor Hilary in a shabby overcoa