es, you were. You hadn't any business even to _think_ such things,
much less say them. Why, even _I_ didn't dare to think it for--oh--for
ever so long. But I'll forgive it--and if it's good it shall be a pretty
little bridesmaid, it shall."

"When is it to be?" asked Molly, still adrift in a sea of wonder.

"Oh, quite soon, he says. He says we're only wasting time by waiting.
You see we're both alone."

But Molly, looking wistfully at her friend's transfigured face,
perceived sadly that it was she who was alone, not they.

And the thought of the red-haired Pierrot with whom she had danced nine
times at the Students' Fancy Dress dance, an indiscretion hitherto her
dearest memory, now offered no solid consolation.

Nina went away, singing softly under her breath. Molly sighed and
followed slowly.

IV

RACK AND THUMBSCREW

Her eyelids were red and swollen, her brown hair, flattened out of its
pretty curves, clung closely to her head. Ink stained her hands, and
there was even a bluish smear of it on her wrist. A tray with tea-things
stood among the litter of manuscript on her table. The tea-pot had only
cold tea-leaves in it; the bread and butter was untouched.

She put down the pen, and went to the window. The rose-tint of the
sunset was reflected on the bank of mist and smoke beyond the river.
Above, where the sky was pale and clear, a star or two twinkled
contentedly.

She stamped her foot.

Already the beautiful garments of the evening mist, with veiled lights
in the folds of it, was embroidered sparsely with the early litten lamps
of impatient workers, and as she gazed, the embroidery was enriched by
more and more yellow and white and orange--the string of jewels along
the embankment, the face of the church clock.

She turned from the window to the room, and lighted her own lamp, for
the room was now deeply dusk. It was a large, low, pleasant room. It had
always seemed pleasant to her through the five years in which she had
worked, and played, and laughed, and cried there. Now she wondered why
she had not always hated it.

The stairs creaked. The knocker spoke. She caught her head in both
hands.

"My God!" she said, "this is too much!"

Yet she went to the door.

"Oh--it's only you," she said, and, with no other greeting, walked back
into the room, and sat down at the table.

The newcomer was left to close the outer door, and to follow at her own
pleasure. The newcomer was another girl, y