yet.

At last she fell into a heavy, troubled, worried sleep--the kind of sleep
from which a woman always wakes unrefreshed.

But daylight brought comfort to Enid Crofton, and after she had had her
early cup of tea and had enjoyed her nice hot bath, she felt quite cheery
again, and her strange, bad night faded into nothingness. She was young,
she was strong, above all she was enchantingly pretty! She told herself
confidently that nothing terrible, nothing _really_ dreadful ever happens
to a woman who is as attractive as she knew herself to be to the sex
which still holds all the material power there is to hold in this strange
world.

During the last three weeks, she had sometimes wondered uneasily whether
Godfrey Radmore realised how very pretty she was. There was something so
curiously impersonal about him--and yet last night he had very nearly
kissed her!

She laughed aloud, gaily, triumphantly, as she went down to her late
breakfast.

CHAPTER XII

At the moment that Enid Crofton was telling herself that everything was
going fairly well with her, and that nothing could alter the fact that
she was now, and likely to remain for a long time, a woman likely to
attract every man with whom she came in contact--Godfrey Radmore,
following Janet Tosswill after breakfast into the drawing-room of Old
Place, exclaimed deprecatingly:--"I feel like Rip Van Winkle!'

"Do you?" She turned to him and smiled a little sadly. "It's _you_ that
have changed, Godfrey. Everything here is much the same. As for me, I
never see any change from one year to another."

"But they've all grown up!" he exclaimed plaintively. "You can't think
how odd it seems to find a lot of grown-up young ladies and gentlemen
instead of the jolly little kids who were in the nursery with Nanna nine
years ago. By the way, Nanna hasn't changed, and"--he hesitated, then
brought out with an effort, "Mr. Tosswill is exactly the same."

She felt vexed that he hadn't included Betty. To her step-mother's fond
eyes Betty was more attractive now than in her early girlhood. "I think
the children have improved very much," she said quickly. "Jack was a
horrid little prig nine years ago!"

She hadn't forgiven Radmore. And yet, in a sense, she was readjusting her
views and theories about him, for the simple reason that he, Godfrey
Radmore, had changed so utterly. From having been a hot-tempered,
untameable, high-spirited boy, he was now, or so it seemed to her,