by CELINE CONWAY

Simon Leigh's female relativeswanted him to marry and settledown at Craigwood, his family'sold home. Why shouldn't he?Women seemed to like him —except Pat Gordon, his sister-in-law's secretary. She and Simonmanaged to strike sparks fromeach other whenever they met.

The interplay of two person-alities antagonistic yet drawntogether by a deep attractionthat both were reluctant toacknowledge, makes a powerfuland fascinating story.

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OTHER

Harlequin ^Kgmancesby CEL1NE CONWAY

911—RETURN OF SIMON 934—MY DEAR COUSIN 965—CAME A STRANGER 996—PERCHANCE TO MARRY

1019—FLOWER OF THE MORNING1046—THREE WOMEN

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Originally published50 Gmitoffl Wag".

Reprinted 1971Reprinted 1972Reprinted 1974Reprinted 1975

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Mated Sa Canada

CHAPTER ONE '"

THIS was Pat's lucky day. It had started with the letterfrom her father in the morning; any communication fromthe cottage at Manbury always gave a fillip to her naturalbuoyancy. Then Mrs. Leigh had complimented her on, theneatness and accuracy of a report on an important meetingof one of the committees. Several members had remarkedwith envy that Miss Gordon must be phenomenally good.

"I told them," Mrs. Leigh had declared, twinkling herblue eyes in her carefully made-up face, "that there's onlyone Patricia Gordon in London, and that none of themcould bribe her away from me."

"They certainly couldn't," Pat had agreed wholeheartedly."I've never been so happy in my life as since I've lived here,in Cumberland Square."

"And I should be completely lost without you!" Which, to Pat's mind, was an eminently satisfactory state

of affairs. To be successful and contented in one's job atShe age of twenty-two is something to be thankful for. Patnever thought back to the day when she had entered Mrs.Leigh's household without a sensation of sober gratitude.

Following on the compliment from her employer hadcome the best surprise of all. Just before lunch-time thetelephone had mng. She had picked up the receiver andheard Roy's voice.

"Hello, my beautiful. This is your hero home again,How are you?"

"Why, Roy!" she had exclaimed tritely, because excite-ment and pleasure had made her temporarily witless."When did you get home?"

"Yesterday afternoon. Couldn't phone you because theparents considered themselves entitled to my first evening.What about tonight — dinner and a show?" /

"J'd love it." "Fine. I'll get tickets. A musical or drama?"' "If I said drama you'd choose a musical." "And if you said a musical I'd choose a musical. Am Ij

allowed to call for you?" "Well, Mrs. Leigh ., ,°8

"I understand, my sweet. I'll meet you in tfae foyer aSGiulio's at six-thirty. Don't be late."

As if she would be late for an appointment with Roy! Pathad sat back in her comfortably upholstered chair andthought how grand it would be to see him again. Though to be sure the two months since he had gone off on a tour of his father's chain of department stores had winged away. But his gaiety was so infectious. Roy had no room at allfor depression.

Pat didn't care for his parents. Old Mr. Brandonmeasured everyone in terms of their worldly success. Hehad a glowering sort of face and seemed to be afraid thatanyone who sought his acquaintance must have designs onhis money.

Mrs. Brandon, from whom Roy got his regular featuresand coloring, was of the type who refuse to relinquishtheir grip on youth. She was constantly in the social newsand often referred to as one of the best-dressed women inEngland. In her opinion no girl existed who was goodenough for her son. He was only twenty-six but alreadyshe had patterned a future for him as a bachelor gay. Patrather thought his mother would, get her own way.

Today, however, she was not concerned with Mr. andMrs. Brandon. There was the evening to look forward to,and outside in the small circular garden, where a nurse ortwo wheeled immaculately-dressed children in baby car-nages, tulips formed pale mauve pools in the vivid grassand the protecting limes were clothed in tender green.Even the tall, elegant houses of the Square had the dean,pleased look of spring. The pillared porticoes and wide,scrubbed steps were interspersed with deep windows whichwere curtained with tasselled net. Pat loved those veiled,shining faces in the sunshine, and even more she lovedall the anonymous but familiar -people who used thesteps. Here, in this backwater not far from Hyde Park, wasone of those peaceful oases which are scattered aboutLondon.

Not that Number Fifteen was always as peaceful astoday. Mrs. Leigh was a busy woman, member of in-numerable committees on social welfare and ever in demandas an oganizer and speaker. At this moment she was afew miles away, declaring open a bazaar in aid of

crippled children. Marion Leigh was forty-three and always smartly turned out. Her efficiency in business matters was staggering, yet she was entirely human and almost too generous with her wealth.

It always seemed, to Pat as if a miracle had happened that day, eighteen months ago, when Mrs. Leigh had asked her to become her secretary in London. She had grown up knowing quite a bit about the Leighs, of course. The family had lived at Craigwood for generations, and at one time had owned most of the village of Manbury. Vaguely, she recalled the death of Marion's husband, and the general lamentation that he had left no children. There had been a spate of conjecture about someone called Simon, who spent his time poking around the South Sea islands and the Far East, but for five years Craigwood had been virtually without a master, though Mrs. Leigh took an interest in the place and invited a party down for summer holidays and Christmas.

It had never occurred to Pat that she would ever leave Manbury, that lovely straggle of cottages and church and winding main street on the border between Devon and Cornwall. Her mother had died while she was still at school, and as she acquired years and culinary knowledge she had naturally taken on the housekeeping in the ramb- ling stone cottage with the garden that. was her father's pride. At the age of eighteen she had entered the office of the local solicitor, and doubtless she would still have beentyping long-winded letters and documents for a small salary had not Mrs. Leigh come in one day and taken afancy to the slim girl with soft grey eyes and a head ofwavy russet hair.

It had all been arranged so swiftly. Pat had been loathto leave her father, but his vehement assurance that he couldget along without her, coupled with his decision to invitean unmarried colleague to share his home, and the plumpMrs. Moss to cook and dean for them, had clinched thematter. Patricia Gordon had travelled up to London andbecome installed as private secretary to Mrs. Marion Leigh.

Two rooms in the-house were indisputably Pat's: herown large bedroom and this room above the lounge over-looking the Square. Her desk was a wide mahogany affair-its eight drawers had heavy brass handles and locks that

worked. Her typewriter was streamlined and noiseless, andthe same could be said of the filing cabinet against thewall. The opposite wall was partly obscured by a carvedbookcase. There was a divan covered in maroon linen, alarge sheepskin rug upon the maroon carpet, and in onecomer a herringbone-brick fireplace from which, at thismoment, glowed a small electric fire.

Pat finished the letters and typed the envelopes. As washis habit at four-thirty on weekdays, Parker, the old man-servant, brought a tea tray.

"Beautiful weather. Miss Gordon." "Perfect," she said. "The sunshine will ease Mrs,

Parker's rheumatism." "I hope so. She's walking better already. Seeing tha£

Mrs. Leigh won't be back for dinner, we were wondering if it would be all right to go to my sister's at about half° past five. It's such a long time since the wife last went out."

Pat considered. "I don't see why you shouldn't go. Edna will be in, won't she?"

"She's had the afternoon off, but she'll beAack soon." "Go ahead, then. I'm going out myself. I'll post the

letters." Parker protested. Miss Gordon was pretty and full of

S'rit, and she had an obliging way with her of which he liked taking advantage. "I'll come up for them later," he said. "Very well, I'll leave them on the desk. Haw a, good

time, both of you." Pat drank her tea, read the letters through and signed

them for Mrs. Leigh. She dropped the cover over the type- writer, bent to take a luxurious sniff at the little round bowl of violets, and decided to have a bath.

The long upper corridor was thickly carpeted and gently lit by a window at each end. Pat went along it to turn on the bath taps, and then came out and into her bedroom next door.

A snug bedroom, in spite of its size. The furniture was old and solid, gleaming from many years of polish, but the curtains, bed-cover and carpet were pale gold, with unexpected touches of turquoise. The two armchairs were

chintz-covered, and! both standard and bedside lamps flaunted hand-painted peacocks.

Pat got out of her frock and into a bathrobe. Every. thing had turned out just right. Mrs. Leigh would not be back before ten tonight. No single obstade threatened the glorious few hours she would have with Roy.

It must have been about a year since Roy Brandon had first breezed into Pat's life. She couldn't recollect just how it had occurred, but he had straightway formed the habitof telephoning her every week or so and suggesting a spree. She liked him, and the feeling of freedom and happiness when they were together was something whichshe never quite achieved with anyone else. Yet she could not honestly state that she had missed him during the last two months. Which was all to the good, surely!

She took a long time over the bath, and it was moving up to six before she got into the new black suit and beige chiffon blouse. Dinner and the theatre with Roy probably meant cocktails at one place, dinner at another and anhour at a cabaret when the show was over. He never bothered with evening dress, which was just as well. Pat had found that a suit stood the racket of an outing with Roy better than anything else.

She was using a light rub of lipstick when the doorbell rang. The caller was no doubt a messenger from one of thevast number of Mrs. Leigh's associates. Edna would dealwith him.

The black suede bag was the next item. Her fingets delved to make sure that it held her compact, a handker-chief and some money. And now her hat. It perchedjauntily, a shaped scrap of black silk around which thepale hair curled most effectively.

Holding bag and gloves, she switched off the light andcame into the corridor, to confront the hurriedly approach-ing Edna. The maid was young and not fully trained. Shelooked scared and pink.

"Oh, miss, thank goodness you haven't gone. There's agentleman asking for Mrs. Leigh. I told him she was outto dinner and what do you think he said? He said, 'I'llwait for her. Cook me a nice big plateful of ham andeggs.' I was that frightened, miss, I came running straightup to yofflo" • . . B . o

"Ham and eggs." Pat repeated the delightful combina-tion of words. "How very odd. Have you ever seen himbefore?"

"Never m my life." "Did he give his name?" "I didn't wait to ask him." "You left him in the hall?" "No, miss. The minute I opened the door he walked in,

dropped his hat on the hall table and went into the lounge. He even took a dgarette from one of the boxes."

This was too much. A stranger striding into the house at six o'dock and demanding ham and eggs! Such things didn't happen. This man would have to be handled care-fully and qaiddy, so that she could call her taxi and beoff.

"I'll see him, Edna," she said firmly, and walked alongShe landing to run down the wide staircase.

She crossed the square hall to the open doorway of thelounge. There he was at the massive marble fireplace, oneof Mrs. Leigh's treasured porcelain figures between hishands, his sleek darkish head critically on one side. Helooked up and saw her, indolently replaced the ornamentand gave her a faint nod of greeting. His glance wascurious, but impersonal.

"Good eroding," he said. "Who are you?" Pat thought rather addly that that was her question, not

his. "I'm Mrs. Leigh's secretary," she answered coolly."What can I do for you?"

"So Marion has a secretary. She was always busy, and Iacpect she keeps you at it, too. Do you know where she is?"

"The maid has already told you that she's out to dinner." "Quite," he said patiently, "but a good secretary can

always trace the boss. Can you get her on the telephone forme?"

"I expect so."' But Pat did not move at once. As well as his manner,

which was half amused and took too much for granted, shealso disliked his looks. Those high cheekbones, and thethe skin stretched tightly over the framework of his face,his queer-colored eyes, neither brown nor green nor hazel,and the hard cleft chin, belonged to a difficult and deter-mined personality. But he obviously knew Mrs. Leigh,

and Pat hadn't time for naany details. She turned towardsthe hall.

"I'll try to get her for you. What name shall I say?" "Simon. Simon Leigh." Pat halted and stared at him. Simon! The man who had

poked about the South Seas when he should have been look-ing after Craigwood. No wonder she had felt a spoo°taneous antipathy for him.

"Something wrong?" he enquired politely. She shook her head. "I'll put through the call.1" She dialled, exchanged pleasantries with someone, and

asked to speak to Mrs. Leigh. The light, clear voice camethrough,

"Mrs. Leigh, this is Pat. Sorry to trouble you, but there'sa man here, a relative of yours, I think. His name is SimonLeigh."

There was a crackling moment, ended by a sharp drawnbreath. "Pat, that can't be true! He must be an impostor.What does he look like?"

"Well . . . he's about thirty-eight, very tall and on thedark side ... he has a darkish tan, and a cynical mouth."Suddenly aware that he had come out of the lounge andwas somewhere at her back. Pot finished hastily. "Will youhave a word with him?"

"My dear, I've been dying to have a word with him foeover five years. Put him on!"

Silently, Pat handed over the receiver. He took it withan agreeable nod, and leaned negligently against the ornatescroll of the baluster.

"Well, well, Marion. I got in from Paris about an hourago. Yes, I have taken my time, haven't I, but I'm freenow for a few months. . . . No, I've fixed up at an hotelfor tonight." His voice deepened slightly. "What aboutyou, Marion? I was too far away to do any good, but Iknew you had lots of sense and wouldn't grieve any morethan you could help. . . . Yes. All right, come along assoon as you can. . . . Not tired, but damned hungry. Ihad no time for lunch" He held out the telephone to Pafc"She wants another talk with you."

Pat cast a desperate glance at her watch. Six-twenty, andshe hadn't even ordered a cab.

"Hello, Mrs. Leigh," she said automatically,

m

"Pat, it really is Simon! I can't believe it. He's mybrother-in-law, Richard's brother. There were only the twoof them. Listen, my dear, I can't get away till after dinnerwithout affronting these people, but I'll try to slide out atabout eight-thirty. Stay with Simon, will you, and see thatParker fixes him a good meal. You weren't going out, wereyou?"

"Well ... yes, I was." "Oh, dear. With the Blakes?" "No, with Roy Brandon." "That man! Is he loose again? I can't see what you

like about him . . . and that mother of his! Put him off,there's a dear. You'll find Simon a thousand times moreinteresting. Be nice to him. Pat. I'm very fond of him,and he's all I have."

My lucky day, thought Pat, her grey eyes no longersoft, but glinting with annoyance as they rested on the care-lessly lounging figure of Simon Leigh. It was too late to ringup Roy's home, yet almost certainly he would not havearrived at Giulio's. Her only course was to leave a messagethere for him. He'd be furious, probably wouldn't get intouch with her again for weeks.

She accomplished the call to Giulo's, hoping, with somevenom, that this beastly long-limbed man who could nothelp but overhear would be decently ashamed of deprivingher of an evening's enjoyment. The receiver fell back into

place with a decisive dick. "By the way," he said casually, "I'm thirty-five, not

thirty-eight." As if it mattered what age he was! Pat pulled off her

hat and dropped it alongside her bag and gloves on the

table. "The servants are out," she said stiffly, "except the maid

you saw. I'll get her to prepare some food." "Thanks. Could you find me some more cigarettes This

box is empty." "There are some over there in the crystal box on the

coffee table. There are magazines in the left-hand cupboardof the radiogram and drinks in the cabinet. Will you help

yourself?" With a hint of mockery he said, "Nothing would give me

greater pleasure. May I pour a. sherry for you?"

14

"No thank Tora" <-'<Uo UJ<UJJ& jrUlAo

She turned and opened the door at the side of the stair"ease which led through to the kitchen. Edna was sitting ina white-enamelled chair at the table, with a periodicalopen in front of her.

"Are you staying in, after all. Miss Gordon?"

Pat nodded. "The visitor is Mrs. Leigh's brother-in-lawand we have to serve him a meal. Shake up the lounge fireand put some logs on, will you? It's taming nippy."

Edna was an unreliable cook. Mrs. Parker said that hertiming was eccentric because she was too fond of readingand singing. So Pat tied on an apron and went into thepantry. Thank heaven it was always well stocked withdairy produce from Manbury. The stranger had asked forham and eggs and that was precisely what he was goingto get: two rounds home-cured rashers and two eggswhipped up into an omelette.

Edna came back and prepared a large tray. Toast, whirlsof butter, some cheese and fruit. Pat placed the fluffygolden omelette beside the grilled bacon on a hot plate,fitted a silver cover over them and bade Edna take thetray to the lounge.

She made some coffee and set it aside. She wasn't hungryherself; they seldom dined before eight at CumberlandSquare and, in any case, anger infallibly depleted theappetite. Not that she was angry now. Roy must havereceived her message and hurriedly roped in someone elseto use the theatre ticket.

Edna re-entered the kitchen with a grin. "He puts hisfeet on the^chairs. When he took the cover off the plate hesaid, 'Ah, they don't serve them like this in Chatmani", . . or some such place. He's real handsome when hesmiles."

Philosophically shelving her grievance. Pat arrangedeoffee pot, milk, sugar and cups upon a small silver tray.She had been told to be nice to him, so she must do herbest.

Mrs. Leigh had never mentioned Simon. Once or twiceshe had complained that Craigwood needed a master, andon one occasion she had said, "The place isn't mine, youknowo I would love to see a family there again." A bailiff

had charge of the estate. It made money, but the bulk ofthe Leigh fortune was inherited.

Having allowed Simon plenty of time. Pat carried thecoffee tray to the lounge. He got up, crossed the roomwith a lithe yet lazy stride and relieved her of the burden.He placed the tray on the low table in front of the fireand pulled up her chair.

The food was excellent," he said, as he hitched histrousers to take the chair opposite. "Apparently you knowhow to get things done around here."

"Black or white coffee?"' "Black, please. No sugar." She accepted a cigarette and a light, noticed that his hands

as he held the match were long-fingered and strong, andthat there were short golden hairs along the backs.

He gave her a one-sided, sardonic smile. "Have you forgiven me?"

"For what?" she asked distantly. ^ "For breaking the date you were so prettily got up for. "I work here," she said briefly. "And tonight I was part of your job? One of the less

pleasant duties, I take it." He reached over to another table for an ashtray. "My conscience ought to have smitten me but I'm afraid it didn't. When you've lived at I have for the past few years you're apt to feel entitled to all the good things that are going — for a while, at any rate. I felt I had more right to feminine society this evening than your Mr. Roy Brandon."

Pat forbore to make the obvious retort. Nothing obvious would ever impress this man. She drank her coffee and . smoked for a minute.

"Have you been to Manbury lately?" he queried. "I was there at Easter, but not at Craigwood." "No?" Again that curious, withdrawn glance. "Do you

come from those parts?" "I was born in the village." "Oh." Reserve flattened his tones. "Then you've doubt-

less heard all the tattle, or perhaps you were a little young when I left. He shrugged off the matter. "How was it looking down there?"

I "Very much as it usually does in early spring. The hedges were full of primroses and the beeches were out."

"Don's you ever go to Craigwood ?°° "I spent Christmas there." "Christmas." His voice reminisced, but the thinnish

mouiA was sarcastic. "Holly and turkey and plum pudding, mistletoe and kisses all round. I was in Borneo on Christ- mas Day."

"And you intend to be just as far away from Craigwood next Christmas," she said briefly.

His look at her was narrow and speculative. "You're quick, aren't you? But you happen to be right. My job sees to it that I'm never in one place for long." He squashed out his cigarette. "Craigwood is well managed. I'm not needed there."

"Mrs. Leigh won't agree with you.'" "She'll have to," he said with an air of finality, and

leaned back to switch on the radio. Now there was no need to talk. Pat suspected that he had

twisted the knobs for that reason. Music flowed out, plain dance tunes without a crooner. She thought of Craigwood, the patina of winter sunshine upon the old stone walls, the huge hall with its two fireplaces, the gracious rooms, the gardens, the lichened trees. No, this man did not belong there. He was nothing like the country squire his brother had been. Whatever was said to the contrary, people did like the owners of estates to act the part. Simon wastoo arrogant, too superdlious to settle into Craigwood andmake the place his own.

Presently she rang the belL Edna collected the trays, andhad just departed when the hall dock chimed three-quarters,indicating that it was a quarter to nine. Then the frontdoor was opened, and dosed with a thud.

Pat sprang up. "This will be Mrs. Leigh," she said withrelief.

Marion came in quickly and stood stock still in the door-way. Simon went over and took her hands, looked downinto her misty eyes.

"It's so good to see you," she said quietly. "And to see you, my dear." "Where have you travelled from?" "Singapore was my last place. I did the final trip by air,

in stages. Come and sit down."

17

Marion Leigh smiled at Pat. "I've lenown Simon foryears — ever since I married his brother, when I wasalmost as young and good to look at as you are."

"You're no less lovely'" he said. "Only mellov/er." 'That's sweet, however untrue. You still turn a pretty

compliment, Simon." She had sat in the chair Pat had vacated and slipped back

the coat which had covered her blue cocktail suit. Pat said, "I've things to do, and then I shall go to bed.

Excuse me?" "Of course," said Marion. "It was nice of you to give up

your evening with Roy, but I was right about Simon,wasn't I ? Roy's only a boy in comparison."

"I've a notion," remarked Simon drily, preceding Patto the door and bowing as she reached it, "that your admirable secretary prefers the boyish male. No doubt they're more relaxing."

Pat did not pause to parity that one. She said good night, emerged into the hall and shut the door behind her. She was famished.

In the kitchen, Parker and his wife were listening to Edna's recital of 'the events of the evening. As Pat's presence became known the chatter died, but Parker was frowning gravely. -

"Sorry I let you in for that. Miss Gordon." "I didn't mind," she said. "Mrs. Leigh has arrived and

they're talking. Perhaps you'd better take them tea and sandwiches in about half an hour." ^ ,

Mrs. Parker bent forward from her deep chair. "Miss Gordon, is it Mr. Simon?"

"Yes. Do you know him?" ' "He used to come here years ago, but he liked the

country best. Always said there was no place like Craig- wood."

Pat was friendly with the servants but she never gossiped with them. This item of news was intriguing, however. If Simon was so fond of Craigwood, why hadn't he been neae the place for so long?'*

"I believe he's only in England 'for a visit," she said. "I didn't get any dinner. Make a few extra sandwiches and send them up, will you, Parker?"

Deeply shocked, he promised to see to it at once.

In her bedroom. Pat hung away the black suit and paton a dressing-gown. Snuggled in a chintz chair with heefeet drawn under her, she ate the savories and drank twocups of the tea which Edna had brought. The book shehad chosen was so absorbing that it was well after elevenwhen she yawned and got ready for bed.

She drew back the curtains to breathe the sharp nightair. This window overlooked the small back garden. Downthere, the rectangular light from the kitchen window fellacross the tiny lawn. The two old oaks fluttered their newleaves in the breeze, and the sky was black and mazedwith stars. This was a wonderful season, this period beforethe full flush of summer. Pat had forgotten aU about SimonLeigh.

CHAPTER TWO

THE next day was a tiring one both for Mrs. Leigh and hersecretary. The mail was heavy and not easy to handle, therewere two meetings in the lounge and an endless flow ofcallers. A friend sent along a brilliant young man whowished to be a doctor but could not afford the training.Pat had to be present at his interview with Mrs. Leigh,and once again she admired the older woman's grasp ofthe essentials to a profession. The student went away witha cheque in his pocket and in his heart a determination t®work hard and justify Mrs. Leigh's confidence in him.

"Over a late tea an unofficial business women's conferencedeveloped and expanded into a hot and exhausting debate.Pat had to escape upstairs and get on with the dericalside of her work. She had statistics to copy and letters to

The evening had douded and a few drops of rainthreaded down the window. One by one the women down-stairs departed. Pat saw or heard their cars glide away fromthe curb below and twist from the quietude of the Squareinto a stream of traffic.

She had intended to take a walk before dinner, but bythe time Parker had collected the letters and she haddeared up it was seven-thirty. Then Mrs. Leigh poked heehead round the doo&,

no

"•Still here. Pat? What a day it's been! Thank heavenwe're to be alone for dinner."

She subsided into the divan, a tall, slim woman in afrock of fine tweed. Her features were longish but goodand, except at the temples, her hair had kept its goldentones. No one would have described Marion Leigh as atragic figure, yet she had'borne more than her share ofbereavement and disappointment. Two things had pulledher through: her belief in herself as an individual and herceaseless regard for others. Sometimes Pat thought Mrs.Leigh did too much. Tonight, for instance, there weretired lines at the comers of her eyes, though, as usual,

her mouth smiled. "If half the energy spent in talk were diverted to action,"

Marion said, "what a heap we'd get done. I liked that boy

— didn't you?" "The potential doctor? Yes. He had surgeon's hands

and a one-track mind." "I noticed that, too. You're becoming a student of

human nature. Pat.'8 She paused. "You weigh up people fairly soon. Tell me what you thought about Simon."

Pat tamed her chair to face the divan and sat down. Marion's expression was serious now, even a little anxious.

"I don't know," Pat said. "I'm afraid my idea of him was tinged with what I'd heard about him."

"Didn't you take to him?" ; "I hardly had a chance, and he certainly didn't want me,

' to. He was offhand and rather sarcastic." "He has hardened," Marion admitted with a sigh,

"though he was, always aloof and self-sufficient. As a youth he was unapproachable, but over the years I managed to wear him down and we became dose friends. He was still a schoolboy when his parents died, 'chough Richard was twdve years his senior. You couldn't have found two brothers who differed more from each other, but there was never a quarrel between them." Musingly, she added, "I suppose Richard was really the weaker' character; he

invariably had to give in to Simon." "To give in to someone who is determined to have his

own way isn't always weakness; it's often diplomacy."

9(t

Marion gave a small laugh. "I like getting your slanfi oathings, Pat; it's so fresh and often slightly rustic. I expoSyou've wondered why I've never spoken of Simon?"

"He's been somewhat remote, hasn't he?" "And a sore spot, too. I felt he ought to have come bads

and taken over the estate. It needs a man. I wrote to himin all sorts of places and I daresay most of my letters missedhim, but some he replied to — very briefly, and alwaysto the effect that his job was important, and he'd neveebe able to vegetate at Craigwood."

"He mentioned something about his job to me. What isit?"

"Intelligence. He was in it during the war. Then hecame back to Craigwood and lived with us. Our hopes ranhigh because there was a girl, too." Marion's voice lowered,as voices do when the thoughts tarn inward, and she staredpensively at the fire which had been switched down to sendout one bar of heat. "It hurt me so much that Richard andI hadn't any children, and when it looked as if Simonwould marry and settle in the district we were happy and relieved. I've never got to the bottom of what it was thatbroke everything up. Simon was asked to do under-coverwork in the Par East, and instead of refusing, as he'dalmost promised us he would, he agreed to go. Apparentlyhe'd proposed to Elise and she'd tamed him down."

"So that was the kernel of the Manbury gossip?" Marion lifted her shoulders. "Villages adore such morsels,

but the people would love to have him back. Shortly afterhe'd gone, Elise married Max Bristow, of Dolbridge."

Pat dimly remembered Max Bristow: a wide-shouldered,tough man who bred horses. Dolbridge was an old andugly country house situated halfway between Manbury and the coast, a house which would easily have fitted into one wing of Craigwood. Try as she might, it was impos° sible to recall Elise Bristow.

"All that was six years ago?" she asked. Marion nodded. "Nearly six years. Fortunately, Richard's

last illness was short. He did beg me to get in touch withSimon, but everything seemed to be over in one terriblenight. Several months passed before Simon got the lettersand cables, and by then the bailiff had been engaged andI'd come to London." Marion sighed again, more pro-

foundly but with a tinge of exasperation. "I talked toSimon for two hours last night. I'm sure he's nearly for-gotten the affair with Elise; in fact, I'm fairly certain theremust have been other women since then — all that time mthe tropics! But he's never met another that he wants tomarry, and I'm horribly afraid that until he does, Craig.

wood is out." It was quite dark outside. The reading lamp beside the

divan lit the room softly and warmly, and the violets still exuded a trace of fragrance. Pat was weary and^ need- ing her bath; she didn't'see that there was much\to do

about a man like Simon Leigh. But Marion had become more alert. She bent forward to

lend emphasis to her words. "He's free till September. He refuses to stay with us in this house, and quite apart from the propriety of the thing I can't say I blame him. He'd detest the sort of visitors we have and the never-ending conclaves. He's agreed to go to Craigwood for a week or two before he leaves, but that's all. Today he's moving into a furnished flat. But we have four months. Somehow

we must make him stay in England!" Pat could hardly see Simon Leigh being made to do any-

filing against his will. She felt sorry for Mrs. Leigh, who loved Craigwood and would always be convinced that she had failed as Richard's wife because she had no son. She would have liked her to get her own way with Simon for

, other reasons, too. Everyone in the Manbury district would be overjoyed to have a Leigh in residence again.

About Simon himself she was not very dear. If he was staying in London rather than at Craigwood, wouldn't it mean that he was not too sure of himself? Wasn't he try- ing to avoid the pull of the ancestral home? Which led to a further question.'How seriously had he been wounded by the woman who was now Elise Bristow?

"We'll have to conspire in this, Pat," Marion was say- ing urgently, "and at all costs we must avoid dumsiness. You can't hoodwink Simon. Perhaps we can ensure that he meets plenty of the right type of women, and we'll have our holiday at Craigwood in July instead of August — he said he'd prefer to go down while I'm there. And, Pat... She smiled tolerantly. "Last night I gathered that you and he were not exactly pleased with each other. I know it was

22

his fault, but he'll be horrid to you if you continuallychallenge him, and I couldn't bear it if you two wereenemies. The trouble is, he doesn't like effident women."

"Except you." "I'm a trifle too old to matter that way," she said with

humor. "He fell for Elise because she was the helplesssort."

The tartness which Simon had drawn from her yesterdayedged Pat's tones. "Maybe she didn't have to earn aliving."

"Earning a living hasn't detracted an iota from your nice"ness. That's why 1 so enjoy having you live here." Withstudied casualness, she finished, "You're one of us. Try toregard Simon as a sort of cousin. Fight with him, if youlike, but do it good-humoredly. Don't forget — we'regoing to make him settle at Craigwood!"

Pat didn't answer. This was the first time Mrs. Leighhad spoken so intimately and it had brought an un-accustomed roughness to her throat. In an inward flash sherealized how close she had come to this woman who em-ployed her. And with a pang it smote her'-that MarionLeigh, the wealthy widow who dressed superbly and wastremendously in demand as a speaker, organizer and bene-factor was really a lonely woman. Years ago she had givenher heart to Craigwood, and desperately, beneath thatveneer of calm sophistication, she now desired that thebeautiful old estate should come alive under Simon Leigh,

"Is it a bargain?" Marion queried quietly. Pat took a deep breath and smiled. "We can do our best,

can't we?" "Good." The older woman stood up. "Let's go down

and toast it. It's going to be a rocky road, my dear, butwith a modicum of luck we'll make it!"

Pat felt less confident. She was remembering Simon'sunyielding mouth and eyes, 'the cold-blooded carelessness

with which he had accepted her company, knowing darnedwell that she would rather have been elsewhere. Whatchance had two women against such deliberate im°jperviousness?

•S C $ !$

It was at the beginning of the following week that Simoneaeae again to the house in Cumberland Square. Breakfast

y,

was over and Pat was stacking the mail into a wire basket onthe hall table when the doorbell whirred. She pulled widethe door and there he was, wearing a navy, pin-stripedsuit which detracted from his tan and odd, cold smile.

"Good morning" he said pleasantly as he entered anddosed the door. "Don't you mind this chilly weather?"

"It's a beautiful morning," she said. "Mis. Leigh is in(he drawing-room."

He nodded at the loaded basket she held. "Where areyou going with that?"

"Upstairs, to my office." "TO carry it for you." '

"I mange it every other day." "The more reason why you should have a rest from it

today. Never acquire too' many habits. Monotony dries upthe soul — didn't you know that?"

By this time they were mounting the staircase, side byside.

"How did you discover it?" asked Pat. He laughed briefly. "I suppose you think my life has

been » round of changing sights and worldly joys. In away it has, but there have been intervals when I've had tolive for months a hundred miles from the nearest white folkm a house on stilts above the swamps — and on a dietof rice and salt Ssh into the bargain." He paused in thecorridor. "Which mom?"

She led the way and indicated the desk. The sun slantedacross it, warming the bowl of dusty-pink primulas. .Heset down the basket and cast a glance around at the book-shelves, the light walls. Then he looked out through thewindow as the square.

"Don't you get tired of tne view?" "No. I like the old and familiar," she said. "I'm not

normally a restless person, though like everyone else I;'have my uneasy moments."

"You had one the night I arrived," he told her with a tight grin.

"Yes, but I soon got over it. Bearing a gmdge is an awful nuisance."

His eyes narrowed at her, critically. "Marion tells me yoa're am excellent secretary. Does she take all your time?"

24

"Of course not. I have quite a bit of leisure." But she did hope he wasn't going to invite her to go out with him.

But business was in his thoughts. "Will you do some work for me?"

She hesitated. "I'd rather you put it to Mrs. Leigh first." "You will if she consents?" "I suppose so." "But you're not very eager."' "I've said I'll do'it."

"All right," he said, and, unexpectedly went from the

room. '. Pat lifted her shoulders, and then, remembering that she

was supposed to be nice to Simon and show him, .in a multi- tude'of small ways, how agreeable life could be in England, she became cross with herself. Slitting the envelopes and extracting their contents, she told herself that however diffi- cult he might seem, it was her duty to do her best for Marion Leigh. She should have agreed at once to his request, pretended to be happy at the prospect of working for him. In fact, though, she was not at all anxious to oblige Simon; though admittedly bearing no grudge, she still recalled with chagrin the calm ruthlessness with which he had stolen her evening with Roy.

The mail was less exacting today. Half of it Pat could reply to without consulting Mrs. Leigh, and she set about ' it at once, because one could never be certain that a day which began'at a pedestrian pace would not develop into a mad scij-amble against time. On and off the telephone rang, but she was accustomed to dealing with it while she worked. , At a quarter to eleven Edna brought her a cup of tea, and a few minutes after she had gone Mrs. Leigh -came in, followed by her brother-in-law.

Marion came immediately to the point. "Pat, will you help Simon? I'm not quite sure what he wants of you, but he says it's confidential and he'd prefer to give the job to someone he can trust." j

Pa't looked up at him, met a faintly mocking smile and looked away. "I'm honored to be trusted by Mr. Leigh. I'll do what I can."

"Good," said Marion. "Sunon, take a chair while I go^through the letters with Pat, and after that you and she

• 9^

can arrange whatever you like. I won't bother either ofyou for the rest of the day."

Pat tamed back to the desk and pulled forward her pad.In the pauses between Mrs. Leigh's dictation she heardSimon stretch his long legs, get up and go to the bookcase,scrape a match to light a cigarette. He might have askedpermission before smoking, but he was probably so used topleasing himself that it hadn't occurred to him. It botheredher having him there; his alien presence robbed the room of cosiness, put a prickle into the atmosphere. He ought to have waited downstairs. ,

•That's about the lot," said Marion at last. "Sign them for me will you — all except the one to the bank. I'll be lunching at the dub and going on to the business women s conference. If you want me after four I'll probably be with the cottage hospital'secretary."

She had a word with Simon and went smartly out and

down the stairs. He stood up and let out a short, sharp sigh. 'Ron't yon

ever tell Marion that she's wearing herself out? "I save her trouble where I can, but she has heaps of

energy. She's perfectly happy in the life she's chosen. A lazy pace or two brought him to the side of the desfc

"What about you — would that kind of life satisfy you? "It might, if my drcumstances were similar to Mrs.

'•^Women are peculiar creatures," he said. "They put themselves through a lot of unnecessary suffering.' He got out his cigarette-case but left it dosed. "Did you know my brother — Richard?"

"I knew him as the village folk knew him. I never spoke

"He was a great chap. He and Marion were the best- matched couple I've ever had contact with. Apart from being in love they shared the same sense of humor, the same simple, uncomplicated slant on life. He wa5 never physically strong, but he managed to be happy _ There was a moment during which he appeared mdmed to say more, but soon it was gone. ,

"The happiest people are those who have simplicity and directness as an integral part of their nature," said Pafc

"My father is like that, too. He's the senior master at Man- bury School."

He dug his hands into his pockets, let his dark gaze restappraisingly on the short, tawny curls, the deep grey eyes. 'You're different," he said. "Direct, but not entirely simple." '

"And you're neither," she stated, and, not too pleased bythe personal trend of the conversation, she added, "what exactly is this work you would like me to do?"

He smiled briefly, with a tinge of irony. "Ah, yes, the work. There's safety in work, isn't there?" He hitched his trousers and sat in the chair which Marion had used. From an inside pocket he drew a worn and plump diary. "I have five of these filled with notes. They have nothing to do with my own job — I carry that sort of information in my head; in fact, I've already reported it all verbally and can forget it. This staff" — he tapped the diary — "was collected for a Coral Sea trading corporation who have a head office in London. I want to give them a full typed report." "

Pat regarded the small book apprehensively, took it gingerly between her hands as if afraid that by touching it she were committing herself. "Your writing is fright- ful."

"It was mostly written on the deck of a tramp steamer, between islands. All the names of places and people are in block capitals."

She looked at him curiously. "If this isn't your particular line of business, why did you do it?"

He shrugged. "My line of business, as you call it, wouldhardly yield results if it were advertised. This was my cover— and an interesting one, too. Ever leam anything aboutQae Coral Sea?"

"Not much." "Well, you'll know plenty about it when this report is

finished. How do you want to tackle it?" Pat considered. The diary lay open on the desk, narrow

lines packed with a smallish, heavy script in pencil. Nodoubt she would become accustomed to the writing andsoon be able to dedpher quickly.

"I believe it would be best if you let me have the not®.books one by one. I'll type the notes and leave you plenty

•>7

rf space to cmect and fill out. Finally, I shall make the j,P 0 "-———y " '

"'Sounds fine. I'll leave this first book with you" ' |

°"N^ ^you'eome across a word that defeats you^nde^

^WW-^^ IjC "

out my sell. , "Very well, Mr. Leigh."

T^a^.^.^ryj^^ . ^wy^ s^ 'T^lse 18 Stt W sh. «6E^i «P«Hy. ••lB-^B•t T* bttt"

rff^A^s ^-'^ss. ^'^•%^K". -^ 'eM^- ••"- '"^^^•'Sn. ••n^ "»t« •«. -••

''SdSdri^y. •T»t i«» ".a w"l. V bnbolde dB wsma« loS? W1 « w™"-

In the disconcerting way he had, he tacked on an agree-able "So long," and walked out. Just as if, thought Pat, thatstrange, guarded personality had dosed right up againsther.

But as she continued with her duties Simon slid from hermind. Today she was lunching out with the Cartwrights,and tonight, with luck, she would attend a concert with thesame charming couple.'

\ CHAPTER THREE-

IT was not till the following evening that Pat got busy onSimon's diary, and she was plunged straight away into aworld fantastically warm and mysterious. The Coral Seacompany of which he had spoken apparently owned trad-ing stations throughout the hundreds of exotic islands, andhe had systematically visited them, weighed up the charac-ter of each agent and made recommendations.

Reading the words which had been scribbled in thoselanguorous seas between one coral outcrop and the next,Pat could see Simon very dearly. In khaki drill with ahelmet tipped over his eyes against the tropic sun, his mouthstraight and secretive, his skin a shade or two darker thanit was at the moment. Elusive and enigmatic, scornful ofpeople who dung, frightened, to the fringes of civiliza-tion.

Try as she might, it was impossible to visualize him atCraigwood. The great house might hold memories of hisboyhood with Richard; fleetingly he might recapture someof the affection he must have had for the place. But Patwas quite sure that the Simon Leigh who had returnedfrom the South Seas and the war-torn Far East was anentirely different being from the man who had set outa few years ago. That younger man had been passionatelyin love; (he present Simon had an element of granite in hisnature which discounted human relationships. Pat waspretty sure he would never be in love again.

To Marion, she voiced some of these conjectures. "I know what you mean," Marion said. "You get the

impression that nothing, no one, could hurt or delight him;Up to a point that's true, I think. Outwardly he was always

50

invulnerable, bat I rather thought his was the sort of im°perviousness which is assumed by certain men who arecapable of deep emotions — a doak." Marion gave thatexasperated sigh. "Time's flitting by, and we'll never getdose to him in London."

"Possibly not,, but he isn't ready for Craigwood yet." "How can you tell?" "I suppose from these notes of his. Only a fortnight

ago he was in Singapore, and I can't imagine a greatercontrast to the Far East as it is today than Manbury. You'll have to give him time."

"But the weeks pass so quickly, and that office of his may send him somewhere else and we'll lose sight of him for years again." Marion laughed and held up crossedfingers. "We'll hope," she said, "and help hope along with a persuasive word now and then. By the way, we're both invited to his flat for dinner on Friday. He's roped in a retired rear-admiral, or something, to make up the number."

"But why me?" demanded Pat bluntly. She never wen£ out with Marion except on business.

"Why not you?" countered the other woman calmly. "If he's needing the companionship of someone young and feminine, let him have it!"

The topic of Simon was one which quickly became tiring — not boring, but mentally wearing in its frustration. Pai was glad to put it away for a while.

That Roy should telephone on Friday was almost inevi- table. Foolishly, she was beginning to connect Simon with Roy, to regard the first as a blight on her friendship with the latter. Fortunately, this time she was prepared,

"So sorry, Roy, I have a duty date tonight." "And I'm fixed up for the week-end," he groaned. "It'1

have to be lunch today at Giulio's. Meet you there at one?" It was arranged. Very cautiously, Pat began to, hum to

herself ''as she slipped Simon's notebook, and a batch of typed sheets into a large manilla envelope and set it aside till evening. She put on the black suit with a pink chiffon blouse and planted the black silk cap at its most becoming angle above her brow.

Roy was waiting in the tiny entrance to Giulio's. Tall and teren-featureds, with halt the brown-gold of ripe corn and

light brown eyes which had a smile imprisoned in theirdepths, he had an air of lively and insatiable anticipation.He had never really worked in his life. Occasionally he sat inan office adjacent to his father's and he had travelled roundthe Brandon department stores, spending a week here anda week there, but his role in life seemed to be that of adecorative spectator. He took part in the world's fun, butgraver issues, he was wont to say, were for graver men.

"Pat, my sweet, you look wonderful," he exclaimed,regardless of the large, uniformed doorman and othersarriving for lunch. "If you hadn't turned up I'd havestormed your castle — in spite of Mrs. Leigh. Do yourealize I haven't seen you for more than two months? Twolong, heart-wrenching months!"

It was all very extravagant, but also very pleasant. Roywas one of those men who seem to have acquired early in life a special look in the eyes, a perpetual endearment onthe lips, but he was less dangerous than some because danger mostly lurks in the unknown, and Roy was transparent as well water.

They were seated at a table for two near a beautifully- painted wall, were served with wine and food. A quartet played; young musicians wearing sky-blue slacks and white silk shirts. Talk and muted chatter competed with a popular Hungarian dance.

"Tell me how you've been getting on," he said. "Aren't you tired of working for Mrs. Leigh?"

"Of course not. I have a wonderful time." This brother-in-law of hers — the one who messed up

our theatre date — what is he like?" "Lithe and hawk-like and vaguely unpleasant." The antithesis of me, in fact." He leaned towards her

with both elbows on the table, his face young and implor- ing. "Pat, I want to ask you something. Can you go down with me to my aunt's place in Kent next week-end? She's just taken a huge old farmhouse and converted it into a blend of cuaint and modem and she's having a houseful of guests from Friday till Monday. She particularly requested that I should bring my best girl."

Pat laughed. "Thanks. I'll talk to Mrs. Leigh-and phone you on Monday. If I can't make it you'll have to take along your second-best." »

"There isn't one," he said, as if he meant it. "Do yourutmost, won't you? Darling, I'm longing to know you inthe country. I'm sure that's where you really belong."

Pat wondered if that last remark were sincere, and con-duded that it had merely been part of a brief campaign ofpersuasion. She did belong to the country, though. Londonthrilled her and her job was interesting, but, part of hermind serenely looked forward to some distant day when herhome would once more be away from town and not toofar from the border between Devon and Cornwall. For thepresent it satisfied her to know that her father still livedin the cottage at Manbury.

She allowed herself to be transported for a minute to themellow garden full of old-fashioned flowers and herbs, tothe wood where wild strawberries grew and to the ruttedlane between the cornfields. She gathered cress from therunning stream, ate new milky bread, saw white linenbillowing on cottage dothes-lines, and children playingor dreaming in the fields.

Then she was back in the sophisticated restaurant withKoy, and her former content with her lot was tinged withnostalgia.

"I'll try very hard," she said. "I believe I do miss thecountry in the spring."

From then on the lunch hour was Roy's. He was a goodconversationalist of the lighter type, and not overburdenedwith ego. His descriptive powers, when it came to givingan account of his recent travels, were limited by his antipathyfor the more drab aspect of existence, but he had someentertaining experiences in the north-country houses ofhis father's branch managers which he did not hesitate toembellish.

After a while Pat regretfully but ostentatiously looked ather watch. "It's twenty past two. 1 must fly. It's beenlovely seeing you, Roy."

He did not move at once. Instead, he toother slim, palewrist and tamed it about, so that the delicate blue veinsinside it were visible. He raised it and bent his lips totouch it, and then looked up to meet her eyes.

"Pat, wouldn't it be extraordinary if after all this timewe were to fall in love — really, I mean."

" 'All this time' isn't £0 very long," she rallied him. "Idon't think we need worry, Roy. There's, something that enters quite early into the friendship between two people who are intended for each other."

"You're so deflating. Pat. I don't believe you want love to happen to you."

"Oh, yes, I do. But when it does happen, I'll know it. I won't have to question myself, as you're doing. You're muddling affairs with the genuine thing."

"But what is the genuine thing?" Pat had to ponder before she could answer this. "Well,

it's all-embracing and irrevocable. I can't tell you how it steals up on one because it hasn't yet come my way." She took another peep at her watch. "You should have started this discussion half an hour ago. Fasdnating as it is, we'll have to leave it in the air."

"We'll sift the matter next week-end at my aunt's," he promised with a grin, and got up to pull out her chair.

Actually, Pat had few original ideas about loving andbeing loved. Having grown up rather dreamily in the coun-try she had sometimes indulged in a flight of imagination inwhich she swung down an oak-shaded lane, her fingersentwined with brown, masculine one. A naive and 'callowconception of romance judged by the standards of the circlein which she now moved. Even the Cartwrights, who wereaccepted as an uncommonly happily-married couple, werenot averse from a dig at each other in public. Pat alwaysfound herself wincing for the victim and becoming aware,rather ruefully, that her compassion was superfluous. Thosebarbed little jokes at the loved one's expense were apparent-ly regarded as necessary to maintain their reputation assophisticates. Pat abhorred artificialfty, and to her sophistica-tion had an underlying note of insincerity. Of all the .women she knew, only Marion had the courage not toveneer her goodness with sham.

That evening Pat wore a coral cocktail frock. She thoughtof the Coral Sea and hoped Simon would see no connectionbetween the color and the scene of his late adventures. ,Marion chose a sage green suit and a pearl choker.

"Simon prefers women to dress well," she said. "Atleast, he used to. A tweed frock was always good enoughfor Richard at any hour of the day, but Simon's one of

Shose men who notice at once if one's attire isn't all itshould be."

"I'm glad he's no relative of -mine," Pat commented."He'd be awfully difficult to live up to."

"You'd manage it," came the confident reply. "I'meontinually amazed at how well you've fitted in here."

"That's because I like it." "And you don't like Simon?" One could be frank with Marion and know that an

expression of opinion would not be held against one. "Ifyou want people to like you, you have to be a little carefulof their feelings. Mr. Leigh doesn't care what he says, andhe sees himself as a bit of a martyr because he's had to dowithout the refinements of dvilization for some time. Heharps on it."

Marion laughed. "Why, that's wonderful! If that's theway he behaves with you you're getting results. Pat. Keepit up!"

At a quarter to eight they went off in Marion's coupe. Simon's flat was one of. a new block in Bayswater, so the journey took no more than twenty minutes. While Marion drove Pat told her of the invitation down to Kent for the following week-end. She saw the well-shaped mouth com- press a little, and was prepared for the other woman's first remark.

"Roy Brandon! My dear, why do yoa waste your time en him? He isn't worth it."

"Roy's all right," said Pat reasonably, "so long as you don't expect too much of him. He's not like some men one might mention. He's too forthright to philander."

"Is he?" Marion sounded relieved, but still slightly irritated. "His mother boasts he'll never marry. I suppose you're aware of that?"

'Tes, but I'm beginning to think she may be proved wrong.'Roy's anxious to fall in love."

"With you?" asked Marion quickly. "We don't gravitate towards each other as two people

awakening to one another's charms are said to." "I hope you never will," said Marion firmly. "You

souldn't be happy with anyone so airy." Pat had ao time to defend the absent Roy before the cas

angled into a narrow courtyard in front of a high building

and Marion braked. Both women stepped out into the cool night and instinctively shrugged deeper into their collars.

It was quite dark now, and the sky was clear and spattered with distant stars. Pat smelled an invisible lilac and was reminded that the white and mauve lilac trees which overhung the old walls surrounding Craigwood would now be drooping their profusions of blossom and scenting the lanes which lovers used at twilight. Soon the tall, shapely chestnuts near the house would sprout their pink and white candles.

A purring lift carried them to the second floor, and a few paces along a thickly-carpeted corridor brought themto the door of the flat. Marion pressed a bell, within seconds the door was opened and there stood Simon, in a dark lounge suit, with his head suavely inclined and a hand outstretched to grasp Marion's elbow while he bentupon Pat an aloof smile of welcome.

"I had a hunch you two would, be more or less on time,"he said. "You always were, Marion, and Miss Gordon ismuch too efficient to be defeated by the clock; Come in andmeet Ralph Sedgwick."

With the almost imperceptible movements of a manentirely at ease, he had divested Marion of her fur wrap and'Pat of the short black coat, and hung both garments overthe back of one of the carved walnut chairs. He indicateda door from the small hall' into a long grey and mulberrylounge.

A man of medium height came forward. He had a headof grizzled crisp curls which had been decisively brushed,a pair of penetrating eyes v/hich had in them all theseas and blue distances of the globe, and a distinctly humor-ous mouth. The retired rear-admiral, of course. Pat haddecided that he would be aged and testy, but Ralph Sedg-wick was neither. He might'have been a year or two overfifty, but no more; and his expression was as bland -asgood, thinnish features would permit.

"Ralph and I first met about twelve years ago," Simon,having completed the introductions, was saying. "At thattime I was making my first trip south. The last time I sawhim was aboard a vessel in Indian waters. It was his finaltrip. He's been loose in London for nearly a year."

35 .

"And appallingly bored," the other admitted. "I can'tmake up my mind whether to go in for business or buya ketch and run it- down to the Pacific."

Marion nodded sympathetically. "There's nothing worsethan finding yourself with too little to do and enoughmoney to live on — particularly if you've led an activelife. If I were you I'd buy the ketch."

"Marion," Simon admonished her good-humoredly, "thatadvice is shockingly against ypur dearest principles. You'veupset all I've told Ralph about you. He was looking forwardto meeting a woman who admirably combines a loveof home with a flair for helping other people. That rakishremark of yours has let us both down."

He had them seated and was pouring cocktails. Pat tookin the room; the excellent modern furnishings, the book- shelves displaying the backs of gay dust jackets. Just such a room Simon might have furnished himself, carefully' exduding all hint of personality.

She remembered that the flat belonged to a diplomat now absent in the Middle East, and looking at these two men who had travelled almost everywhere she thought how exciting it was to come in contact with such people. They , opened a new, breathtaking vista to a girl who had never left the shores of England.

Simon was patiently offering her a glass. When at length she took it, he got his/own drink and sat down beside her.

"What's the matter with you this evening? Not hanker- ing for the South Seas already, are you?"

"Lord, no. I'll take those sorts of experiences vicariously. I've finished your first notebook, by the way. The whole lot is in the large envelope that I put on your hall table as we came in."

"We'll take a look at it after dinner," he said. "Was it difficult?"

"At first, but your writing is like a taste for oysters—it improves with practice."

He dismissed this with a shrug. "You arrived looking soulful—you still have remote depths in your eyes. What, in the whole of London, could cause that in such as you?"

"Maybe it wasn't London," she said mischievously. "It could have been Craigwood." ;'

"Craigwood!" he echoed quiedy birt sharply. "Were you and Marion talking about the place on your way here?"

"No," she answered sweetly and with a trace of malice in having slightly roused him. "For a second, in the court- yard below, I got a most heavenly whiff of lilac, and I thought of those weighty blossoms which blow in thewind over the Craigwood walls; remember them? And after that I thought of the chestnuts near the house, and the willows down by the stone bridge where my father occasionally goes fishing—he has the bailiff's permission, of course! If I were you, I'd have to go down and see the estate in all its spring finery."

"If you were me," he said succinctly, "you wouldn't pos-sess a single feminine instinct, so you wouldn't be governedby reckless emotions; you'd be a man. Is the drink all itshould be?"

"Are you putting me in my place?" 'You know best whether you need it," he said. "Don^

write me off as a mere male who can easily be deceived bytwo charming and intelligent women. I've been around,you know. Perhaps it will save you lots of trouble if I tellyou now that I'm leaving England at the end of September,probably for two years."

She looked at him with sudden candor, saw his face, stilldarkish from the southern sun and so lean that the bonesand masdes''were visible; there was no flesh to spare onSimon, nothing but that economical framework strengthened^with vigorous musde.

"I knew the evening we met that you wouldn't stay; £even said as much," she answered. "Mrs. Leigh's concernis that Craigwood should have a permanently resident mas° .ter, but even she wouldn't want you to settle there if yourheart were elsewhere."

"My heart," he replied in the same muted but edgedtones, "is not so inconvenient as to ache to be where I'mnot. It's adequately ruled from the head." Abruptly, hetamed and broke in upon Marion's conversation with RalphSedgwick. "Bowles has made his discreet signal from thedoorway. Shall we gojn to dinner?"

Bowles was the manservant who managed the flat andserved the dishes which his wife so ably concocted. Appar-ently the. good lady was now receiving poultry and dairy

gnpplies from Manbury, just as Marion did, for she hadcooked a large succulent fowl and not spared the butterand eggs in her preparation of the soup, vegetables and

sweet. Ralph groaned that he wished Mrs. Bowles were in

charge of the kitchen at his club. "I fared a deal better onboard," he said. "A ship's cook is often gifted with imagi-nation and the results of it are entertaining and mostlyedible. In any case, there's an element of adventure in eat-ing what comes out of the galley of a ship. At the clubour meals are sad affairs which remind one of post-mor-tems."

"Why don't you try an hotel?" suggested Marion. Simon gave the reply. "Being a sea-dog, Ralph is re-

markably obtuse on land. What he'd really like is a cottage overlooking the Channel and a sea-cook to take care of his wants, with a trim little yacht thrown in. He's now in the unenviable position of needing someone else to make his dedsion."

"It's not as' bad as that," said Ralph. "What annoys me is that for years I've anticipated retirement as a time when I'd do all those things which the sea left me no leisure for. Reading, concerts, an occasional day at the races—nothing terribly ambitious, but all the odds and ends of things which make up real enjoyment of life. Big business has never attracted me. Now- that I. find myself with all the time in the world and everything on my door-

' step, so to speak, I'm still dissatisfied. Believe it or not"— a bony forefinger tapped the edge of the table—"I haven't met a single man who cares for concerts."

"Oh, but you won't," said Marion, "because all those who do, have wives and sweethearts to .take along. You'll probably find a woman companion much more apprecia- tive. Pat's a concert fan. She'll go with you, and see that you get the most out of it, too. Won't you, Pat?"

Ralph glanced across at Pat with those clear, kindly eyes. "Will you, Miss Gordon? They're playing a favorite symphony of mine next Wednesday. I'll get tickets tomor- row if you'll say the word."

Pat was conscious of the silence which, seemed to be.awaiting her response; conscious, too, that Simon had

rather noticeably stopped fingering the stem of his glass. f

' 38

She Smew he wss watching her appraisingly, with a smilethat taunted.

"You're very kind, Mr. Sedgwick," she said, a threadof defiance in her tones. "I do like concerts. I'd love togo with you."

"Fine. At last I have something to look forward to.'"' Soon after this they moved from the table for coffee

in the lounge. The conversation was friendly, as if theyhad all known each other for a long time, and it rangednpon a variety of subjects. It must have been nearly tenwhen Simon said,

"Will you two excuse Miss Gordon and me for a fewminutes? We have a small matter to talk over. We'll goto the writing-room."

Obediently Pat left her chair and preceded him to thehall. There, he picked up the packet she had brought -andcrossed to open another door. As he stood aside for herto enter the small light room, he looked down at heesardonically.

"Come along in, Patricia," he said softly, and not with-out sarcasm. "You'll be nearly as safe in here with me asyou will be when listening to the band with Ralph nextWednesday."

Pat was not so sure, but she stepped into the roomnevertheless.

THE writing-room, which was probably termed a studyby its owner, had a pearl-grey enamelled desk with match-ing bookshelves and small table, a round-backed chair a£the desk and a rose-colored studio couch against one wall.Above the studio couch hung a pair of impersonal printswith a framed mirror between them.

"It's the spare bedroom, too," Simon commented. "Flatsare wonderful, aren't they? So convenient and compactthat it's incredible anyone should want to live in/a housethese days."

"A good many people still prefer to have space aboutthem and a garden," said Pat. "And a flat isn't the bestenvironment for children."

"I suppose not, though there are plenty of boardingschools. That's not one of my problems, thank God."

"Do you mean you don't like children?" Simon drew iri' his mouth with exasperation. "I mean

nothing of the sort," he said. "Stop trying to put me onthe spot. I won't have it."

"You don't have to bark. I'm not yet aware of all thesubjects on which you're toudiy."

His annoyance seemed to increase, then suddenly helaughed. "I can't make out if you're really clever orwhether innocence is at the back of those searching re-mark's. You're a mixture of softness and astringency thatI haven't met before, and I can't say that I take to it."

"Very well," she said. "I'll remember to be polite andrespectful."

"Not too respectful; I'm not yet Ralph's age." "Polite, then. Shall we get down to the notes?" He put her in a chair at the desk, emptied the man ilia

envelope in front of her and bent over to leaf through the pages of typescript. Seemingly, they met with his approval, for soon he sef'fhem to one side and extracted the other four notebooks from a drawer.

"You can take them all," he said, "and return each as it's completed. With you they'll really be safer, and they'll be off my mind as well."

"Still no hurry, Mr. Leigh?" / "Simon," he said.* "Call me Simon." She paused for a second. "Isn't that rather too familiar?

I never call Mrs. Leigh by her Christian name." "I don't see the connection. I'm not your employer." "Well . . . we're not friends." "Aren't we ?" He looked at her as a doctor might regard

a wayward patient, with interest and tolerance. "What's your definition of a man friend ?" )

Pat took an interest in neatly stacking the diaries. Simon was a master of the awkward question, and • furthermore, he expected such questions to be answered. You'd imagine a man who was well thought of in diplomatic circles would possess a smooth charm, a beguiling manner which would soothe the suspicious mind. Perhaps on duty Simon could assume the honeyed, distracting guise while the rapier- life® brain carried on its work. In private life, however, he

did no posing. There he was, standing dose above her andmercilessly awaiting her explanation.

"One is friendly with different people for differentreasons," she told him. "Mostly one has something or otherin common with them."

"I see." He spoke as though he were finding the discus»sion instructive, but Pat detected an undertone of satire."You and Ralph have come together on the musical plane.With Roy Brandon, I take it, you share a delight in night.dubbing and flirtation. That takes care of both the lightand serious sides of life. You've only to find someone whomakes love the way you want it, and you'll be complete."

"I hadn't thought of that," Pat murmured. "Thanks forworking it out so mathematically. It's a wonderful help."

Relentlessly he pursued the topic; she was discoveringthat he never could leave anything alone till it was thor-oughly sifted. "So we aren't friends because we haven'tanything in common. There ought to be a remedy for that,Any suggestions.?"

Pat hesitated, her fingers rather tight round the books;then she plunged. "There's Manbury—and Craigwood."

"I expected that," he said. "In fact I deliberately askedfor it. You soaked up the old gossip in the village ratherthoroughly, didn't you, and now you're convinced thatmy lack of interest in the place is all because of a pair ofblue eyes that wouldn't shine for me." His voice wentharsh. "Look at me. Do I honestly strike you as a manwho'd go on pining for years for one particular woman?Do I?"

"No," she said quickly, astonished and vaguely glad."But you have a fiendish pride which apparently meansmore to you (than Craigwood does. A man's feeling for awoman may change, but love of a home like Craigwoodis rooted, for ever."

"My dear child," he said with maddening condescension,"you're contradicting yourself. What you really believe isthat I'm spending the bulk of my leave in London becauseI'm too much of a coward to reopen old wounds at Craig-wood."

Recklessly she looked up at him and challenged him."Well, aren't you?"

The silence which followed had an electric quality.Pat endured it almost without breathing for a few seconds,but after that she had to stand up and step away from thedesk. If Simon had not been barring her way to the doorshe would have gone from the room.-

He was angry; without looking his way she knew it.It came to her precipitately, devastatingly, that Simon haddeeps of which she was entirely ignorant, that she hadformed her opinions rashly, making no allowances for a^nature which, through the way of life he had chosen, couldnot help but be complex.

"I'm sorry," she said, staring rather fixedly at the backof the chair. "I'd no right to say that, but you did leadme on. You have your own reasons for staying dear ofCraigwood and they have nothing to do with me."

She made the effort, then, to pass him. Quite whathappened Pat could never afterwards have explained. Shefelt Simon's hands on her shoulders, gripping with un-necessary force, raised startled eyes and instantly felt thehardness of his mouth upon hers. A savage pressurewhich bruised her lips and started the salt taste of bloodon the inside where her teeth bit in; then there was ayard of space between them, and Simon had his handsin his pockets and a set smile which held a sneer.

"That's a type of punishment you'll understand," hesaid in clipped tones. "Next time you'll think twice beforepassing judgment!"

Hazily, Pat said, "I suppose random kisses are anothercommodity you feel you've been cheated of during the lastfew years. It isn't quite fair that I should always be yourvictim, though."

After which she found the door open and Simon bowingher out

"You deserved it, Patricia," he murmured mockingly,"and you're a sweet victim."

Marion and Ralph Sedgwick were still seated one eachside of a lazy fire. From habit, Marion spread her fingersto the warmth, and the glance she gave the two enteringthe room was contented and negligent.

"We've been discussing books, and Admiral Sedgwickhas discovered my ignorance. I'm seriously contemplating

dropping out of several committees in 'order to have mhour or two every day for reading."

Simon said urbanely, "Your luck's in, Ralph. Friendship,I'm told, is based upon common interests. You're pickedup a couple of friends in one go."

"I hope you won't kick at sharing them with me." "Not at all, old chap..I believe they're both large-hearted

enough to contain the two of us." A few more equally light remarks got Pat safely across

die room and into a chair near Marion's. She felt absurdlyunsteady and hot with resentment. Her mouth hurt andthere was an odd fullness in her throat.

There had been something cold-blooded and purposefulin Simon's sure grasp over her shoulder bones, the unerringbearing down of his lips. As if he had set himself anexperiment, and carried it out with the objective half ofhis mind. Perhaps he had wondered if he could still bemoved by a woman's nearness and fragrance; and decidedthat he was cured. He must be feeling somewhat pleasedwith himself, for anyone less ruffled at the moment itwould be hard to find. He was like a wall of steel uponwhich the arrows of life could leave no impression. Patwished the same were true of herself. It was uncannyand humiliating to realize that Simon had upset theregularity of her heart-beats and shaken something funda-mental in her nature. Infuriating, too, to have sudden hotyet nameless desires.

There was no need for her to do much more talkingthat night. Soon, she and Marion drove away from theflat, leaving Ralph Sedgwick and Simon in the well-litcourtyard. As the car wound through the dark, desertedstreets both women were silent, though Marion's finely-moulded mouth was soft and half-smiling, as though shewere mentally reviewing an extraordinarily pleasant eve-ning. How would she react, Pat wondered, were she tolearn that her imperturbable brother-in-law had kissedher secretary? Probably with a delighted laugh; so Simonwas taking that much notice of women already!

But Pat allowed no illusions to cloud her own specula-tions. During those moments in the writing-room Simon'scontrol had never slackened; rather, it had tightened against

her and through her against all women. It was she who had been disarmed and rendered vulnerable.

Starlight palely illumined the bedroom when she entered, and for a while she did not switch on the light. With Marion in her own room at the other end of the corridor, the house was very quiet, and Pat's movements as she hung away her coat and slipped off her dress sounded loud in her own ears. She got into her dressing-gown and snapped on the mellow light of the reading lamp on her bedside table, then crossed to the window and leaned her forehead against a window pane. The cool shock of the glass against her burning skin became balm, and she stayed there, gaz- ing down into the well of the tiny garden, thinking about Simon in a new way.

Was he happy? And those deeps she had become aware of in him—what were they? Had they to do with Craig- wood, where he and his brother had grown up ? Maybe his own valuation of himself—the traveller without roots, the impenetrable cynic—was his true worth, after all. Yet Pat found herself denying such a conception of him, though there seemed to be no other picture to take its place.

Tremulously, she reflected that she had never yet met the real Simon; that carefully guarded person might emerge

. at Craigwood, but it would not do to depend on it.

She turned and saw her reflection in the big circular mirror over the dressing table; the wine-red gown girdled about a narrow waist, her hair strangely pale by contrast. And suddenly to be sweet of character and efficient at her job were not enough. She wanted to be beautiful, irradiated by love. She wanted the happiness which comes from security and serenity of mind, the complete harmony with someone which is inseparable from , « . from a true marriage.

Marriage! Pat felt the blood drain from her face. What was wrong with her? She had never before trembled at the thought, but now her whole, being quivered to the dream which sooner or later comes to every woman. She needed to be loved and to love back with every fibre and sinew.

The dream became vested with a poignant sadness, and Pat realized that the stare she had trained upon the slight figure in the mirror was dark and intense, bearing no rela-

44

tion at all to the calm grey gaze with which she had hithertofaced the world.

With an effort she drew back from the window and satdown to complete her undressing. What an idiot she was—and all because Simon Leigh had placed his mouth uponhers. She would be wiser to remember that he had not fora second shed his aloofness. By the next time they met hewould have forgotten, and she would be well advised toforget, too. <»

In any case, she told herself with some vehemence, shedisliked Simon; disliked him.

The concert with Ralph Sedgwick the following Wed- nesday evening was a heartening yet quiet experience. It was like spending an evening-with a favorite unde. In fact, Pat found it hard to believe that they had met only once before. Though he loved the sea, he avoided the subject, probably because he was afraid of boring her. It was Pat herself who eventually led the conversation to the romantic waters south of the Equator.

Ralph had called for her soon after seven and taken her in a taxi to one of the smaller, more exclusive restaurants. They had dined upon sole, spring lamb and magnificent pyramids of prepared hothouse fmits, had drunk a littlewine, and were contentedly stirring coffee when it oc- curred to Pat that he was talking like a man who had nevereven crossed the Channel, let alone navigated his shipthrough the seven seas. She voiced this opinion.

Ralph smiled, crinkling the corners of his very blueeyes. "Candidly," he said, "I've noticed that most bache-lors of fifty or over tend to live in the past and makethemselves nuisances to everyone who comes within listen-ing distance. I've seen women yawn their heads off andother men slip right off to sleep in the middle of a mono-logue of reminiscences. When you come to think of it,every life has its points of general interest, its physicaland spiritual development, and I. think the man who forceshis companions into the role of an admiring audience hasalready missed a lot and is in danger of missing a. lotmore. That way you never get to know people."

"But you've spent so many years at sea that it's part ofyou. One has to.leam something about those years to knowyou at all."

"You flatter me," he told her, still smiling but withsincerity. "What would you like to hear about—my work,or the places I've been to?"

Pat's smallish, vital face took on a look of absorption."They're tied up together. Let's play a game. I'll mentiona place and you teU me what it conjures for you." Shebarely hesitated before adding, "Celebes."

Kindly, wholeheartedly, he entered into her mood. Likemost men who have been compelled to live very much in-side themselves, he had almost .unconsciously stored upinnumerable scenes and incidents, and now they emergeddear-cut, economically colored, in phrases so bare of em-bellishment that Pat was no longer seated amid the discreetgossip and clatter of a fashionable London eating-house.She was in the roaring forties, the teeming cities of theEast, the languorous lagoons of the southern seas.

Here was a man her father would find congenial. Shecould imagine the two of them in fhe cottage, smokingtheir pipes, one each side of the brick fireplace. EdmundGordon was ever discovering something new in England—in Maabury, even. To .him it was incumbent upon everyman to know his own country before venturing to takea vacation abroad, but he enjoyed hearing at first hand aboutlands he had no real desire to visit. In this. Pat was like?Slim.

"To me," Ralph was saying, "the interest in travellingis pointed by the people one mns into. .The countries—the architecture, mountains, rivers, crops—are all verymuch as fhe guide books depict them, but the human beingisn't stereotyped; he's the product of his own experiences,and in remote places he's sometimes very odd. There wasan old man in Bayeng whom Simon introduced me to;he'd never left his native village but somehow or otherhe'd acquired culture and a marvellous philosophy."

'Pat answered slowly, "Don't you think that when a manhas lived among strange folk he's rather inclined to becontemptuous of the merely ordinary?"

"Speaking for myself, no. What you call ordinary I find engaging and restful, and infinitely preferable to the excitements of the exotic."

"Simon's just the opposite," she said. Thoughtfully, Ralph tapped his dgarette upon the edge

of a glass ashtray and pushed away his coffee cup. His thin but strong brown hands rested in front of him on the table. "I wouldn't say that. If Simon's duties took him to the lonely coasts of Greenland he'd perform them with thoroughness and get a kick out of doing so. I've never known anyone to accomplish so much work with so little fuss. Since he's been back there's a rumor of a fine dipio- ' matic future for him."

"Does that meannhe'll always have to live abroad?" "Not necessarily. If he chose, he could spend quite a

lot of time at Craigwood." Pat looked quickly at his face, with the network of tiny

lines imprinted there by salt winds and the glaring sun,and a mouth that was humorous yet shrewd. Marion musthave hinted to him of her hopes about Simon, and Ralph ^ ialso knew of Simon's decision to leave England in Septem-ber. For a minute she was swept by a surge of annoyance.Bother Simon. How had one man achieved such importancein their lives, And in such a short time, too.

A month ago she and Marion Leigh had been serenely^happy and uncaring, and, unknown to them, Ralph Sedg-wick had been established in his bachelor dub. Then Simonhad appeared, rocked the house in Cumberland Square intoa state of frustration and discontent, extricated Ralphfrom his torpor, and thrown them all together as one mightshake up peas in a pot. Fortunately, Ralph was a dear, buteven so, Simon had no right to start an upheaval if he hadno intention of staying to see it through.

"It would have been better for Mrs. Leigh if Simonhad stayed away from England," she said now. "It's hardto have all her old longings resurrected.".

"Simon wouldn't see it that way," he replied gently, "andI don't believe he makes her in the least miserable. You'reyoung, and every little blow leaves its mark. But when awoman reaches Mrs. Leigh's age and wisdom, thingseven out for her and past suffering loses its sting, becauseit has entered into her personality and mellowed. Have

you noticed that when she speaks of her husband she in- variably smiles?"

Pat had noticed it, of course, but it surprised her that this man who had impinged upon their existence only 1'ast Friday "should already' have seen so far below Marion's beautifully-lacquered surface. The admiral certainly had something about him!

Soon, he looked at his watch and said they must hurry. Pat pushed Simon from her mind and later she listened, with the same silent appreciation as Ralph's, to the "Eroica" symphony and a violin sonata. When he took her home his thanks for her company were warm and emphatic. He'd never had such an enjoyable evening and they must have another soon. No'doubt Simon and Mrs. Leigh could be persuaded to join them. ^1B>

"I'm sure Mrs. Leigh is fond of music," he said, "and Simon's not so hardboiled, either. He always kept \a selec- tion of good gramophone records in his bungalow."

But Pat thought that Simon would avoid attending con-_, certs. Music, she well knew, has a potent charm, and ' Simon did not want to be dsarmed.

C.H AFTER FIVE

PAT was up early next morning. She had' awakened de-pressed yet unable to explain the depression. The sun wasshining, thinly and reluctantly but still shining, the spar-rows were noisily jubilant in the trees andJEdna was sing-ing somewhere below in • her pretty but nasal voice. Forthe hundredth time Pat considered it a pity that Ednahad never been able to afford singing and elocution, lessons,and as usual she concluded that the girl was no doubt farhappier in the sphere she had chosen, where tradesmencalled her "a proper skylark" and even Mrs. Parker occa-sionally showed admiration by grudgingly requesting "achorus", than if she had fought with better performerson the radio or on -the stage.

'After this reflection, the weighted sensation which haddescended upon her heart became so oppressive that Patswung her legs out of bed, set about her toilet and, with-

A»

out pausing for .her customary peep into the back garden,went down to breakfast.

With a queer sort of relief she found the dining-roomempty. Marion had dined out last night but she wouldn'tbe down a moment after eight o'dock. She never was.

Pat ate mechanically. She was needing a break fromLondon, that was it. The long weekend with JRoy Brandon'saunt in Kent would put hec right for a while, but sheyearned with an unprecedented intensity to spend a coupleof weeks with her father at Manbury. From spring, alongthe warm green roads of summer and into .the rich russetand flame of autumn, it was so beautiful down there. Peace-ful, too. Her father, himself schooled by years of teachingexuberant youth, was as sane and placid as the trees whichspread their green umbrellas over the river. As well asbeing scholarly he was wise and possessed of an all-embrac- ing tolerance. In his last letter he had alluded to the sum- mer vacation; he rather fancied the Lake District 'this yearand thought that Hugh Dyson, the art master, would ac- company him, but she could be sure they would not departtill she had come and gone from Manbuiy. .

An unfamiliar tide of rebellion rose in her. The idea of spending her annual leave at Craigwood was stifling. She loved the old walls, the orchards and sloping lawns, the big whitewashed kitchens with oak beams across the ceil- ings, and massive hearths, the maze of stone-flagged, box- hedged paths which led to the bulging-walled stables and; outhouses. She liked the back of the house as much as the imposing front; the kitchens and smaller living-rooms had a snugness which was more difficult to achieve in the greatpanelled hall and front drawing-rooms. Craigwood was a house to fall in love with, a house with an ancient, com-•prehending spirit, but to Pat is could become somethingmore: a haven of the heart. And it is foolish to place one'sheart in precarious keeping. She knew that.

She would like to stay with her father in the cottage- thistime, but it had only two bedrooms and old Mr. Rathem,the history master, nov/ occupied the one which had beenPat's. Old P<.atty, as he was affectionately termed by the boys,'was set in his ways and disinclined for change; he wouldn'teven consider moving into the local hotel for a fortnight.

Pat sighed, and wondered whether it would be warm4Q

enough to wear her new yellow linen down in Kent. Shewould travel in tweeds, take her black and coral frocks fordinner, and the heavy green spun with long sleeves. Sheand Roy would walk and talk a heap of nonsense, therewould undoubtedly be tennis (mustn't forget her shortsand a shirt), and they might even do some horse-riding,though she did not own a habit; so far she had only hackeda bit inthe fields near home. With Roy there, the eveningswould be hilarious.

Pat's heart lightened. She had nothing to be blue about.Why, Roy was almost in love with her, and what morecould a woman want than to have fun with a man to whomshe was important?

She got up from the table and stood for a moment look-ing out at the dew-sparkling square where the wallflowersand tulips had given way to budding antirrhinums and thelimes waved emerald arms. Perhaps she had time for a stroll. But as she tamed Marion came into the room.

In a tailored brown wool suit with a severe white blouse,-Mrs. Leigh looked ready to face a day behind a desk, but as she came to the table Pat saw that her eyes were lively and that a natural pink enhanced her fine features. And subtly, she carried an air of hope and gaiety.

"Hello, my dear," she said. "What a grand morning!" The weather wasn't as wonderful as all that. The sun -as

yet had no warmth and there was a distinct nip in the breeze which rustled the double damask curtains. But Pat was willing to be persuaded. She always felt braced when Marion was more than usually happy, and this morning she definitely needed a fillip.

"The weather experts predict rain," she commented, "but they're not always right."

"I don't mind rain in the latter part of the day. It's waking up to it that I find devitalizing." Marion took a sip of fruit juice and glanced up, smiling. "How did the con- cert go off last night?"

"Splendidly. Admiral Sedgwick's a pleasant companion." Marion nodded. "So he is, and you feel you can trust

him—with your confidences, I mean. He wouldn't laughat you if they happened to be womanish; in fact, that'sexactly what he'd expect of you. For a seaman he's com-fortingly human."

Pat laughed. "People who love the sea are mostly nice—have you noticed that? I think living on or near theocean must be vary calming. It's those, who don't love any-thing who are difficult to get along with."

Marion's glance sharpened somewhat, but she made noimmediate reply, for Parker had sedately entered the roomcarrying the silver dish from which he insisted on servingbreakfast, however little there was of it, Parker often statedthat if the day should come when he could not perform hisrites v/ith elegance and dignity he would fold himself upand depart this life. Which showed that Parker was a pleas.ant anachronism.

"Thank you," said his mistress." I'll have coffee today."She broke a piece of toast, waited till his muffled footstepshad receded, then addressed Pat. "Has Ralph Sedgwickasked you to go out with him again?"

"He'd like you to go as well, next time."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible for several weeks."She gave a swift, ecstatic laugh. "What am I saying! I'mnot afraid at all. I'm glad." She seemed young and eager,and was obviously too exdted to eat. "Pat, you and I haveto be very busy today. I'm cancelling every appointmentin the diary and arranging for various people to fill in forme while I'm away." v

"While you're away," Pat echoed. "Where are yoagoing?"

"Not putting this at all well, am I? I was going to tellyou about it when I came in last night—was bursting to,but it was so late and your light was out. Simon was at theCartv/rights' for dinner and he drove me home. We spokeseveral times during the evening but we were right here,on the step, before he casually informed me that we—heand you and I—are going down to Craigwood for a whileon Saturday."

"Craigwood!" Pat felt as if she were holding somethingtoo heavy for her strength. "Are you sure?"

"That's exactly how I received it, too. I can't think whatcan have changed his mind—I didn't like to ask him forfear he'd change it back. With Simon one has to be awfullycareful, and 'I shan't dare uncross my fingers till we'reactually installed in the house. But he says he's going to

<!1

live there till September, and keep the flat only for a nightin town now and then. Isn't it marvellous?"

Pat hadn't grasped it yet. Was it really possible thatSimon had decided to spend three months at Craigwood?But what could be behind such a dedsion? Pat was fatallycertain of an underlying motive; Simon never acted with-out one. Had her challenge roused him to prove that hecould exist at Craigwood, become part of its pattern andstill break loose when his time was up? It could be, yetone could scarcely credit his regarding anything Pat mightsay as worthy of so drastic a demonstration.

"Did he tell you the reason?" she managed. "Only that he's tired of town and doesn't fancy a coun-

try hotel—which is eyewash, of course. I believe he's feel-ing the pull."

"I hope so," said Pat inadequately. She ought to have been wildly elated, but she wasn't.

Only fifteen minutes ago she had been sunk in a welter oflonging to see her father and Manbury, but now both hadlost significance beside the fact that at Craigwood therewould be no escape from the tyrannical personality ofSimon.

"I hardly slept all last night," Marion confessed. "Thisis the biggest thing which has come to me since . . . well,for many years. Don't you see, Pat, that with Simon there,in his own castle, half our battle is won! We'll get AuntAlison over at once from Truro to give the place atmos-phere, and invite all the spare young things in the neighbor-hood: Honour Willings—you remember her?—AnnetteMarshall, Sir Francis' daughter, the Belton twins, andthere are several others. You'll enjoy organizing house par-ties for a change!"

"But . . . he'd meet even more women in London,women more to his taste."

"Quite, but at Craigwood his pyschological reaction tothem will be different. He'll be the master there, and with-out our interference in any way, he'll gradually realizewhat's expected of him by the whole neighborhood, andmaybe he'll come to the condusion that domestic life insuch a place needn't be so tame, after all."

There was another pause while Parker re-entered, poureda cup of coffee, gazed reproachfully at the untouched kid-

ney and bacon, and placed the coffee pot predsely on itsstand. When he had gone Pat moved slightly towards thedoor.

"Your breakfast will be cold." "It doesn't matter — I couldn't eat it, anyway. This

means so much to me that I feel all shaky inside, for fearit won't succeed. Pat" — there was a note almost of appealin her voice —' "how would you feel if Craigwood belongedto you and you hadn't seen it for nearly six years?"

"I ... don't know." She spoke unsteadily. "I thinkI'd feel rather full of tears and terribly grateful to find ithadn't changed."

"So would I. Well why shouldn't Simon experience themasculine equivalent of that? If we could be moved bysuch emotion — we outsiders — surely he, who has Craig-wood in his very bones, can't be entirely untouched? It'sthat particular feeling which will make him want to marry."

"He'll have to fall in love first." "I'm not so sure." Marion looked speculatively into her

cup and took a sip from it. "We have to remember thathe's been in love once; he isn't likely-to repeat that par-ticular folly. It's my opinion that if he does choose a wifehe'll do it rationally, with an eye to the future. Such unionsare often sucessful. Simon would make a go of it."

A flush had crept into Pat's cheeks; the heat of itexasperated her but she strove to ignore it. "I don't believehe'll marry," she said, hoping her tones were flat and dis-interested. "From the few talks I've had with him I'd sayhe's not in a mood even to consider it."

"Not yet," agreed Marion softly. She appeared about toadd more on the subject, and then, apparently, she thoughtbetter of it. She got up and slipped a cigarette from thesilver box on the mantelpiece. Abstractedly, she flicked thelighter and inhaled. "Simon's bought a car, a big dashingaffair. He'll drive us both down in it on Saturday and I'llleave mine here for the use of anyone who needs it. Theservants will take their annual holiday and follow us toCraigwood."

Pat said, "Had you forgotten that I'm going away this.week-end?"

"It's only Koy, isirt it? If you ring him up at once he can arrange to take someone else. You'll be glad of a spell in Manbury, won't you?"

"Of course, but I was looking forward to a couple of days in Kent, too. I promised Roy only yesterday that I wouldn't let him down."

"He won't mind. Simon particularly wants us to go OB. Saturday."

"It can't matter to him when f go. Fit catch the noon train next Tuesday." ,

"But, Pat. .." Marion twisted and looked into her face. "Simon definitely included you in the arrangement. Is itnecessary to cross him just when he's beginning to capita-late? He told me that you're making an excellent job of hisnotes, and as soon as we're settled at Craigwood- I'm toleave you entirely free to finish them. He's anxious thatthe next few weeks shall be a holiday for all of us."

Pat thought of something, but hesitated before phrasingit. Then she said, "Didn't you tell him that I'm bookedup this week-end?"

"Yes, I did, early in the evening. When I reminded himlater he simply shrugged and said, 'She'll come, if you askher. Her father means more to her than that young fly-by-night!'"

Marion's smile was amused but a little placating., Inother circumstances Pat would have gone to lengths ratherthan hurt her, but Simon had stepped a pace or two beyondhis rights. It seemed to have slipped his mind that Marion'ssecretary was only at his command during office hours. Shehad already been granted leave from Friday afternoon tillTuesday morning, and she was stubbornly determined totake it.

Not that she wouldn't have preferred to spend Sundaywith her father; that went without saying. But she refusedto have her movements dictated by Simon. If she obeyedhim in this she was lost. Which sounded fantastic but was,she knew, unmistakably true,

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Leigh," she said. "I gave my word toRoy before Simon made his dedsion. I'll come to Craig-wood on Tuesday."

Seeing there was positively nothing more to add, shewent from the room,,

Automatically, she stopped at the hall table for thebasket of letters and carried it up the staircase to the office.The envelopes were slit, their contents unfolded and flat-tened; and presently Pat began to tap out replies on thetypewriter.

As Marion had foreseen, the day tamed out to be a busyone. There were dozens of telephone calls to make, scoresof brief letters announcing her departure to be typed andposted. Pat was kept at it till eight that evening, afterwhich she dined alone, Marion having gone off to thetheatre.

During Friday there was a slight constraint between thetwo women, and once or twice Pat was on the point ofclimbing down. But each time she was held back by thethought of Simon carelessly ordering her life as if she werean appendage of the Leigh family, and her pride flared. Shecouldn't let him succeed. She gathered that he would behere at Cumberland Square for the evening but knew thathe was unlikely to show up before seven, and by then shewould be well on her way.

She packed the bulk of her dothes in the large trunk andlet Parker carry it away for despatch to Manbury. Most ofher books and small possessions could remain in her room,and her suitcase stood ready to be stowed into Roy's sports

car. When that debonair young man rang the door bell at five

o'dock Pat had only to wish Marion good-bye. The olderwoman, regarded her with a faintly rueful expression.

"Have a good time, Pat," she said, "and don't worry.You're absolutely entitled to please yourself in this, and I'mnot blaming you a scrap. We'll see you on Tuesday. Good-bye, my dear."

She bent forward, lightly touched her lips to the firmyoung cheek and waved them off with a show of cordiality.

Pat snuggled into her seat and answered Roy's airy smile.This was what she had been anticipating so eagerly — atemporary relief from the Leigh household in undemandingcompany. For two or three days she would live on the gaysurface of life. She wanted laughter, gales of it, and plentyof action. Roy would see to it ..that she was abundantlysupplied with both.

55

Deep down, though, Pat was not deceived. She was toohonest with herself not to realize that the week-end hadalready been blighted by the dark and ruthless essence ofSimon.

CHAPTER SIX

THE whole way to Exeter the train was full. There, thecarriages disgorged their loads, the train was broken in twoand the first half meandered on at leisurely speed throughthe villages and hamlets of Devon towards the coast.

Pat's eyes ached with the strain of searching for belovedlandmarks: stone and brick houses clustering about a steepleand the whole embedded in trees, a sleepy farm, a scribbleof hills, a pine copse. Her eyes strained but her mind onlyhalf accepted what they saw, for it was otherwise occupied.

The week-end had dragged. The converted country housebelonging to Roy's aunt had! been disappointingly ostenta-tious and slightly vulgar, but in everyone else it had rousedenthusiasm so Pat, perforce, had exdaimed her admiration.Some of the house guests had. been rather bogus, too; evenRoy had admitted as much, though he extracted enjoymentfrom them. Against that background he had shown upextraordinarily well. He had protected Pat as if she werea tender seedling among avid tares, and gone off alonewith her whenever possible. She had been grateful to him,but so glad to have awakened this morning knowing thatthis was the day of days, when she would see her fatherand begin to dig back into Manbury.

The train slowed. Pat's breath caught and now her wholeattention was given to the undulating stretch of countrybeyond the window, to the l.ine of silver birches featheredwith green, to the sweep of color and light upon the river.And how lovely the sky — the blue-grey of a dove'sbreast, and cloudless.

As Pat stood up to reach down her case she was un-conscious that the shine in her eyes, the anticipatory part-ing of red lips had revealed her to the other threepassengers as a girl at long last coming home. One ofthem helped her and she murmured her thanks, but shecould not have said what any of them looked like.

The train jolted to a halt, a porter lazily shouted,"Manbury," delightfully burring the "r", and Pat was onthe platform, breathing in the scent from a border ofstocks and feasting upon the masses of pink roses whichhung all along the fence at each side of the tiny stationbuilding. Yes, this was home!

The air was warm and caressing, enveloping, as thoughreceiving her back. Without hurry, she moved alongtowards the exit with ths other half-dozen people who hadleft the train. She bumped into someone, said, "I'm sosorry," and stared up into the hawk-like face of SimonLeigh. :

He gave her a tight-lipped smile, took her case in his lefthand and her elbow in his right, and led her past the bar"rier and out to the station yard, where stood his gleamingburgundy saloon.

"I didn't expect to be met," she said. "No? What did you intend to do—walk it?" "I was going home to my father first. It's only ten

minutes' walk across the fields." "I'll take you there. He knows I'm meeting you. Marion

told him yesterday." He had her seated and himself had slid behind the

wheel and started up the car. They swerved out into a nar-row road with cottages at each side, and Pat saw that twowomen who were chatting at a gate had broken off theirconversation in order to watch the passing vehicle. Bothwere smiling in a pleased fashion, and Pat noticed thatever so slightly Simon inclined his head to them. She knewthe tarn their gossip would take:

"Mr. Leigh's handsome, isn't he? D'you suppose he'llstay for good up at the house?"

"No telling. Looks haughty to me—nothing like hisbrother. Mr. Richard would always give you good day fromthe car window, and he didn't mind driving about in onethat was shabby and old-fashioned. Seems as if this Mr.Simon can't unbend."

"He doesn't know us—not very well, anyway. He's beesaway in foreign parts a long time. Funny how he clearedoff to heaven knows where. Of course, he couldn't haveknown then that his brother would die so suddenly, thoughI expect he knew there'd be no children. Mr. Ridiard was

57

It would be amiable gossip. Pat was sore. She liked to believe that Manbury folk, mudi though they relished a startling rumor, a scandal or minor catastrophe, at heart were as companionable and benevolent as the green hills which cradled the village,

The car was taking the angle into the main street when Simon belatedly enquired, "Did you have a good week- end?"

Pat replied conventionally, "Yes, thank you." "Are you pleased to be back in Manbury?"

' She nodded. "It's my anchor." After a sileace he enquired, "Have you made any more

arrangements with Brandon?" "No." She threw him a swift, curious look. "Why?" He shrugged, but did not turn his gaze from the narrow

roadway ahead. "No reason," he said non-committally. "Did you have any rain in Kent?"

"Not a spot. But it's been raining here, hasn't it? I caa sanell it."

"We had a heavy shower this morning."' He stopped to allow a crowd of home-going school-

children to cross the road to the bus stop. Through her window Pat smiled and waved at one or two of them. As the car moved on she twisted to watch them crush into Mrs. Chard's little shop; some were already out again and consuming violent-colored drinks through straws, and the penniless ones, dutching their season tickets, were forming a seething queue for the bus.

The main street was exactly as Pat always visualized it. Small shop windows with overhanging, beamed upper storeys, the road too narrow for the desultory stream of assorted vehides. But no one was in a hurry. Manbury had an air of diangelessness, of affinity with bygone, more plar dd centuries.

As they tamed from the main street into a lane which widened and became a residential road. Pat looked up at Manbury School on the hill. Its walls rose from the eme- rald summit, brownish-grey and creeper-covered, with steer* gables and one odd-looking turret

A thread of pure joy ran in Pat's tones. "They've gildedthe weather-vane. Doesn't it shine! My father wrote thatthey've more boarders than ever this year." She cast amomentary glance at Simon. "Doesn't it make you proudthat the first Leighs at Craigwood built the school?"

" 'For the sons of indigent gentlemen'," he quoted withsarcasm. "I believe the word • 'indigent' is omitted from *the prospectus nowadays."

"That isn't important," she said, at once defensive."They still take a number of free pupils and they discour- >age snobbishness. You're too ready to condemn."

"Really?" His voice was even and mocking. "If we hadtime I'd take you up on that. But there will doubtless beother opportunities in the days to come. By the way, wedidn't greet one another very effusively, did we? May Inow express my pleasure in seeing you once more, and hopethat your stay at Craigwood will not tax your tolerance?"

"How kind of you. You phrase your remarks so sweetly,"she said.

How she detested the purposeful manner in which he "setabout feeding her hostility towards him. Did he deriveenjoyment from making her angry, or was it simply that hedidn't care? She heard him give a small laugh, saw thethinnish, well-cut lips twitch with amusement, but therewas no time for comment.

The car stopped at the grass verge in front of the white-walled cottage with its old, rich .brown thatch and thesquare chimney-stack which her father always averred wasslightly out of true. And there was Edmund Gordon him-self, slim and grey-haired, his thin, middle-aged face smil-ing as he swung back the green wooden gate and cameto meet her.

"Well, Pat, my dear." He received her kiss, then re-garde^ her critically. "Seems to me you haven't come homea moment too soon. Was she as pale as this in London,Simon ?" '

"Sometimes." Simon stood with his hands in his pocketsand a quizzical light in his eyes. "Your daughter has spentthe week-end with a rather hectic young man."

"I've been travelling all day," Pat retorted with a traceof tartness, "I shall be all right after a cup of tea."

59

She had thought that Simon would leave her there and drive back to Craigwood, but apparently he had previously been invited to stay, for the table in the cottage sitting- room was neatly laid for three, and he seated her in one of the ladder-back chairs as if he were familiar with the

/placet "I ought to wash first," she said. Simon flicked his fingers. "You don't look grubby, my

diild. We'll accept you as you are." He waited till her father had sunk into a chair before taking his own, and then turned an> interested glance upon a plate heaped with hot scones. "They smell good."

"Better than usual," said Mr. Gordon. "They smell of your butter. Kind of you to send it."

Mrs. Moss came in, carrying the large flowered teapot, a dish of anchovy toast fingers and the honey jar. She was a big woman addicted to blue-and-white print aprons, a widow who lived rent-free at the other end of the village on the Craigwood estate. She nodded placidly at Pat, but her high color denoted a self-consdousness in the presence of Simon. ^,

"Thank you, Mrs. Moss." Pat made room for the dish. "How are you, these days?"

"Nicely, thanks." "And the children?" "Still up to their eyes in trouble." Hurriedly she added,

"Will you be-wanting,anything else?" "This looks more than enough. You're treating me too

well, Mrs. Moss." "It's such a long time since you was here." The woman vanished and Pat poured the tea. She wished

she were alone with her father so that they might talk con- tentedly of all that had transpired since Easter. Simon ruffled the peace of the place, unsettled her and made her unable to relax in those chintzy surroundings which she had known from childhood. And she could not help won- dering at her father's friendliness for him. Of course, Ed- mund Gordon must have been acquainted with Simon in those days before tropical seas had claimed him; during Richard's time the sdiool had had frequent contact with the Leighs, for Richard had been essentially a Devon man with a deep love of tradition and an inherent sense of

family duty which" would now be termed old-fashioned. Her father had seldom discussed the Leighs with Pat, pos- sibly because he had imagined she had learned all it was necessary to know about them from Marion.

She tamed to him now. "You didn't mind my not com- ing down on Saturday? I'd already promised to go to Kent."

"Of course I didn't mind, particularly as you'll be here for some weeks. Simon was good enough to call in and tell me all about you on Saturday evening."

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" Simon said, still with a glint of mockery,

"It does, rather," she assented, determined not to be settled. "I wasn't aware that you knew all about me. What do you think of Manbury alter an absence of several years?"

"It seems to have contracted somewhat, but is otherwise unchanged." '

"And ... Craigwood?" He was still smiling but his eyes narrowed at her, as if

daring her to go as far as she liked. "The lilacs are still blooming," he said.

The lilacs! He was deliberately reminding her of the evening when he had taken her to the writing-room of the flat. Her teeth went tight with the effort to quell a retort which might have puzzled her father, and in a moment she was able to sip her tea and lie back in her diair as though the subject of Craigwood had no importance, any- way. It wouldn't do to arouse her father's curiosity; al- ready he had glanced from one to the other in mild astoa° ishment.

The conversation took a more ordinary course. The men- discussed the forthcoming Manbury Summer Fair, and pres-

ently old Mr. Rathern, the history master, who was not half so testy as he appeared, came in and refused to drink tea, though he unashamedly and greedily deared the cake and scone dishes.

Pat went off to wash, and to exchange a more private word with Mrs. Moss. She sat on the edge of the kitchen table with the sun across her bright head, listening to the local news, and gradually London receded and she was en- meshed in the small and vital happenings of Manbury.

It was nearly seven when Pat heard her father call hername. She said a swift goodbye to Mrs. Moss and hastenedout to the front garden. The men stood on the short pavedpath, and Simon was holding wide the gate.

"I'll walk over tomorrow," Pat told her father.

"Do, my dear, and on Saturday you must come to thecricket match at the school. We still have Lake as sportsmaster. In fact, the only change in the school staff is in theart department. We now have a specialist in such things—Hugh Dyson, the man I mentioned in my letter. You'llmeet him here tomorrow, if yoa come in the afternoon.He's having tea with me." •

Neither Pat nor Simon spoke much on the way to Craig-wood. The sun threw gold beams across the copper tops ofthe beeches, cast into relief the great stone urns which orna-mented the tall pillars at the entrance to the wide, tree-lined drive. The damp had released the scents of clover andwood-sorrel, and 'above the soft purr of the engine Patheard the unmistakable call of a cuckoo.

Then all else was forgotten and her heart gave a definitelurch as the house came into view, the austere wallssoftened by green smudges of wistaria, the sunset touchingwith fire the latticed windows and bronzing the stonework.A 'fortress of a house, but a friendly, inviting fortress, withan extravagant width of porch which was reached by asemi-circular flight of steps flanked on each side by an or-nate stone balustrade.

Her breath caught sharply and audibly. "Oh, Simon..." She checked herself abruptly, resolutely kept hereyes averted from him, knowing that his expression wouldbe dark and satirical.

"Oh, Simon what?" "I won't tell you because you'd grin and make me angry.

Has Mrs. Cunliffe arrived yet ?" "Aunt Alison? Marion arranged for her to be here to

greet us on Saturday. She acts the part of matriarch ex-tremely well. I love the old lady."

"That's quite something." "What is?" he demanded tersely. "Answer me that with-

out hedging." "Well, it's something that you love her. It's amazing to

me that you can love anyone."

62

"I believe you're confusing tne several types of love, Patricia," he said in a pleasant drawl as he switched off the engine. "If you were more amenable I might even love you ,. . as a sister. Stubborn as you are, you're quite likeable."

"Thanks. I wish I could compliment you in return. Shall •we go in?"

As he helped her out she heard him laugh softly and privately,

Marion was in the great oaken hall near one of the blaz- ing log fires; She came'forward, elegant in a dark green velvet suit and a diamond collaret, and held out both hands in a happy welcome.

"I thought you two would never get here. Aunt Alison isn't down yet. Will you have a drink. Pat?"

"I'd rather change, if I may." -

"Go ahead. Your trunk is in your room, and Mansell will take your case. Whisky ,»Simon?"

"Not just yet. Maybe I should change, too, or Aunt Ali- son will say I'm letting down the dan."

"Be quick, then. Our guests are invited for seven-thirty." To Pat she said, "We're only having a couple of men this evening—six of us altogether. Are you tired ?"

"No, just excited. I always feel this way the ifirst day at Manbury."

Marion nodded comprehendingly. "I know that feeling, and it's so breathtaking to come to the house at this hour. If I didn't know him better, I'd wager that Simon pur- posely kept you late at your father's in order to impress you with the magnificence of his domain in the sunset."

To this Simon did not bother to reply. He indicated the staircase which rose straight from the hall and mounted it at Pat's side. Halfway up, the stairs branched both left and right, and here he stopped.

"I have the corner room above the terrace. Can you find your way to yours?"

"Easily, thanks. And thank you for meeting me at the station."

"That's all right, little one. Almost anything makes a change down here."

He gave her an enigmatic grin and they parted, he to, Sake the right-hand stairs three at a time, and Pat to nego-

f&

tiate those opposite more soberly. She found that she wasa little tired, after all.

Her room was richly comfortable. A pastel green bathtowel warmed over the back of a chair near the fire, andthe green and gold brocade curtains were already drawnagainst advandng dusk. The soft lights illumined the pat-tern of leaves in the gold carpet, and shed a luxuriantglow over the polished walnut of the wardrobe and dress-ing-table. Irresistibly she compared the tomato-red andpinewood room she had slept in last night with the mutedsplendor around her. It wasn't only the difference in bed-rooms, she admitted to herself. This was Craigwood, theincomparable.

Nevertheless, she could not entirely throw off the feelingof suffocation which had first assailed her the morning shehad learned she was to live for the next few weeks underthe beloved, ancient roof, with Marion and Simon. Some-where deep in her consciousness lay foreboding, and boundup with it was the fatal admission that now Simon hadentered her life he could never be driven from it. She gave a sigh and began to undress.

During her first days at Craigv/ood Pat did little work—Aunt Alison saw to that. Mrs. Cunliffe was a slenderwoman of average height and possessed of the aquilineLeigh features. Her hair was white and beautifully soft, andshe had the delicate coloring of a porcelain figure. Shewore the powder blue which is so attractive with whitehair, and lavender linen which drew attention to eyes thathad once been so deeply blue as to appear violet; they werestill lovely and alert.

Aunt Alison had married at the age of eighteen in anera when young ladies were obedient first to their parentsand thereafter to their husbands. Her young wifehood hadbeen happy, for her two children thrived and hei\ barristerhusband adored her, and twice a year there had been theexcitement of the brief journey from Truro to Manbury,and heavenly holidays with her brother and nephews.The first blow had fallen when her son perished towardsthe end of the first world war, and the second when her

f,A

daughter became a victim of the influenza epidemic withwhich that war dosed. She had grieved without bitternessand inevitably grown closer to her husband.

From then on the years had flowed over her withoutmaking many inroads upon her small but hardy physique.Her husband, the judge, had died three years ago, and shehad lived on in her abode of memories with the old andfaithful Charlotte, who had been her maid and companionfor fifty years.

For Craigwood, for the Leighs, and for any who hadconnections with them, Aunt Alison's fund of affection wasinexhaustible. When Marion had telephoned an S.O.S. lastweek, Mrs, Cunliffe had come swiftly and joyfully alive,for here was something she could do, something big—-for Simon, who was the last of the Leighs, and whom sheloved best in all the world. Charlotte must come along toCraigwood, too, for with whom else could she thoroughlysift the smallest incident and the less tangible signs andomens?

Though she had tamed seventy, Mrs. Cunliffe's ideaswere, for the most part, up to date. She didn't think theyounger-generation behaved too badly, and for some thingsshe admired them tremendously. Perhaps a few were a littledifficult to understand, but patience in research was in-variably rewarded. That was why she sought out. Pat andled her to talk about herself.

One morning they were seated under a chestnut in thegarden. The sun dappled the grass around them and twoblackbirds were busy in a nearby hedge. Marion and Simonhad gone off to play golf with the Beltons and a hush layover the vast house and gardens.

Aunt Alison's voice was gentle. "I musn't go on monopo-lizing you, Patrida. It's so long since I had dose contactwith anyone so young and fresh as you are that I'm afraidI've taken advantage of my years. But these talks of ourshaven't been wasted, you know."

"I do know. I often think later, when I'm in bed, ofwhat you've said."

"I'm glad of that. Without experience and knowledgeit's very 'easy to get tied up inside oneself. Sometimes weget so tangled that we forget what we're seeking."

"It's mostly happiness in some form or other," said Pat. "I suppose it's natural to look for the things that will cheerone's own life."

"Too often, though, we hurt others by taking what weimagine is best for ourselves. Simon did it, some yearsago, and he intends to do it again, but more frankly andruthlessly this time."',

Simon did it, some years ago . . . took what he con-sidered the best course for his personal well-being. Pat'sheart missed a beat.

"I've heard," she said as casually as she could, "that he ,left England because there was a woman he loved whodidn't love him."

"It's possible; Marion thinks so. But Simon always hada taut, imperious charm. Had he temporarily submergedhis pride he could have won her. I daresay to you, Patricia,Marion and I are simply two women incomprehensiblyobsessed with getting Simon married?"

"No." But Pat could offer no further remark on thatparticular aspect. "I shall have to do some work now. MayI get your book?"

Aunt Alison gave her gentle, simple smile. Perhaps shewas aware of Pat's sudden uneasiness, for she reached thin,flexible fingers to touch the pale hand which held the armof the adjacent chair rather tightly. "Ask Charlotte to bringmy needlework. I want a word "with her."

Pat delivered the message and went- along to the smallroom which had been set aside as an office. She lifted thecover from the typewriter and shifted fhe table on whichit stood into a rectangle of sunshine which slanted fromthe window. There was a batch of mail which had beenforwarded from London, and a few other letters whichMarion had dictated yesterday afternoon. They^would befinished by one, and this afternoon she must concentrate onthe third of Simon's notebooks. Odd how she was comingto loathe the sight of those diaries and to feel nothing butdistaste for their exotic contents.

66

. CHAPTER SEVEN

THE morning pssed. She heard Marion and Simon comehome, apparently bringing friends with them for lunch.At Pat's request, Mansell brought a tray to the office, andwhen she had eaten the salad and fruit she resumed herposition at the portable typewriter. It was less easy tomanipulate than the streamlined affair at CumberlandSquare and was indined to rove around the desk.

No one interrupted her. The house quietened for anhour, after which the sound of feminine laughter echoeddully along the corridor, and Pat opened her door becauseit was no longer necessary to mute the tapping of the keys.

Presently she looked through the window and saw Simonand another man, with the dark, curly-haired Belton twinsbetween them, swinging away towards the tennis court. Inwhite, Simon was tall and lithe and vital. The summer sunwas deepening his tan, so that his teeth, as he spoke smil-ingly down to the girl at his side, looked extraordinarilywhite.

For a long unhappy moment Pat felt bruised and lockedout. Then she sensibly told herself that it was her ownfault if she was not out there with them. She had only tochange and stroll out with a tennis racquet in her hand tobe accepted and welcomed by them. Today, after the daysof idleness spent chiefly with Mrs. Cunliffe, she just hadno time for tennis.

At four-thirty Marion came into the office. "Oh, there you are, Pat. Aunt Alison said she thought

you'd shut yourself in here to work, but I don't want youto overdo it. Is this Simon's stuff?" She took up a sheetof typing and read a few lines aloud: The agent here wassick and emadated and his shack crawled with every con-ceivable type of pest, yet the climate, though sticky, is nottoo bad. He was supposed to be married to the coloredwoman who kept house for him. Monotony must hav^ gothim down, but I didn't probe. Suggest you put in a youngerman as assistant, give the agent three, months' sick leave andreview again in a year's time'." Marion hurriedly droppedthe paper. "Sends a hot shiver along your spine, doesn't

67

it? Dirt, heat and outsize insects. Are all the notes likethat?"

"Some brighter, some more ghoulish. The best bits are .about the islanders and the things they grow. They're reallyinteresting, though I wouldn't tell Simon that." Pat .stoodup. "If you'll sign the letters, I'll walk down to the villageand post them. I need the exercise."

"I looked into tell you that we're having our first bigdinner next week. Parker and his wife will be here by then,but as Manseli will be going off for his holiday you and Iwill have to pitch in and help. I'll give you the list ofguests and you can get ofl; the invitations for a start. Any-one you'd like to invite?"

Pat hesitated. "I'm out of touch with the friends I usedto have in Manbury."

"Let me know if you think of anyone. Your father willcome, of course."

Marion signed a few letters and left Pat 'alone again.Deft fingers filled the envelopes, sealed and stamped them, and Pat set off hatless for the post-box at this end of thevillage.

For the first time she was keenly aware of the ambiguous- ness of her position at Craigwood. On previous visits shehad been merely Mrs. Leigh's secretary, carrying on more or less as she did at Cumberland Square but spending most of her time v/ith her father. With Marion the relationship could never become awkward because Pat was never temp-ted to cross the path which divides employer from secre-tary. They were friendly and an occasional intimacy had crept in, but Pat had never forgotten the gap which must exist between them if they -were to''avoid strain.

Now, she remembered the older woman's softening to-wards her the day after Simon had first visited the London house. "Try to regard Simon as a sort of cousin." Nothing more had been said on these lines but Pat sensed a differ- ence in the atmosphere. It was almost as if .they—Marion, Mrs. Cunliffe and even Simon—had come to regard her as a junior member of the family; which, she concluded, was not altogether to her taste, though she couldn't have said why.

A cool wind blew along the lane, ruffling her hair and pinking her cheeks. The earth smelted rich and damp and

the leaves rustled together overhead. She liked this par°ticular walk over Craigwood land, the unexpected twist ofthe road which gave a view of thatched and tiled'roofssome way below, and its perilous descent to the main road.

As she reached the village it occurred to Pat that shewas now nearer to her father's house than to Craigwood,but he would not be expecting her and she might evenbe in the way there if, as was often his habit, he had in-vited other masters down for tea and a chat.

She had regretfully dedded to tarn back when a manhastened across the road and held out a detaining hand;a thickset young man with a preposterous quantity ofcurling brown hair and sparkling Brown eyes.

"Miss Gordon!" he exdaimed. "I'm beginning to believethat thoughts can conjure people. I was hoping quite hardthat we'd meet again soon."

"Were you, Mr. Dyson?" Pat felt inadequate at the moment to deal with the smil-

ing art master. She had'met him twice before, once at thecottage and again at the school cricket match. He was niceand very sincere, but he struck her as a man who neededlooking after. His tie, as usual, was knotted too tightly anda little askew, and the collar of his cream silk shirt wascrumpled, probably because he bundled his dean laundry iinto any available comer of his wardrobe. For a man oftwenty-eight his air was decidedly unworldly.

"May I walk with you?" he begged. "I'm only going back to Craigwood." "As far as the gates, then?" "If you like." With a pleased smile he fell into step beside her, awk-

wardly took her arm and just as awkwardly dropped itagain. "You haven't enquired why I was hoping to meetyou," he said.

"Perhaps you're one of those men who hate to leave any-thing unfinished. You were in the middle of a discourseupon Restoration portrait painters when we parted lastSaturday."

"Was I? How splendid that you remembered. But howdare I bore you with such a subject! I can't remember whatI said—only that you're a most wonderful listener." Helooked sideways at the pure lines of her face before adding,

f6

"Someone should paint you like' that, all windblown againsta backdoth of summer leaves."

She laughed. "Are you angling for a commission?" , "Lord, no," he said soberly. "I'm not a real artist; I

only teach the technicalities of art. Though I do believe I'dmake a better job of you than I could or anyone else. Willyou let me make a sketch of you some time?"

"Maybe." Pat could not take him very seriously, butthere was much about him which afforded a relief fromCraigwood. Hugh Dyson pulled at the more maternal ofa woman's heartstrings. "Supposing you tell me why youwanted to see me."

"Well, it has to do with Craigwood. Your father toldsse there's a picture gallery in the house and that some ofthe greatest masters are represented there."

Pat nodded. "The gallery is kept locked, but I daresayyou'd be allowed in. Why don't you approach the bailiff?"

"I have, and he tamed me down. 'I may have beendumsy in my request. I'm not always tactful." Hugh's shrugwas self-deprecatory. "You see, several of the senior boysare genuinely interested in old paintings, and it seemed apity to me that there should be many examples so near theschool yet unavailable to the pupils. So I asked permissionfor myself and six boys to see the Leigh collection. Thebailiff's reply was that he is in charge of fhe house onlywhen no one is in residence, and that he hardly thought itnecessary to add that the ladies and Mr. Leigh would notcare to have a horde of schoolboys inside the place."

For a minute or so Pat said nothing. She went on climb-ing at his side and wondering what he expected her to doabout it. His square face was serious and absorbed, andall at once it came to her that a sight of the Leigh paintingswould mean a great deal to him.

"You think I can help you in some way?" she said. "You're living there," he answered. "I do realize that

your dealings with Mr. Leigh are similar to mine with theHead, but you're a woman, and if you were to put it tohim'he'd at least consider the matter."

This statement Pat found vexing. It bore out the gist ofher own earlier reflections—that she had become a mem-ber of the Leigh household, but necessarily the least im-

portant member. She would like to show Hugh Dyson that his comparison had not been well chosen.

"I'll try for you," she said. "Any particular day?" He almost stopped, and stared at her. "Will you really

do it. Pat? I may call you Pat, mayn't I? I thought it would be much more difficult to convince you ... to persuade you . . ." He broke off, confused but suddenly happy in a charming, boyish way, and the brown eyes shone brighter than ever as they searched the grey. "I'll be everlastingly grateful. Any day will do, any day at all, preferably straight after school. Can you find out by the week-end?"

"I'll ask him this evening." "Then you can tell me on Saturday. Will you go to Exeter

with me on Saturday morning? I have to buy some books, and we could have lunch there and find something to do in the afternoon. I'll borrow a car!"

After that he took her arm with more confidence, and the smallness of her wrist in his grasp and elbow against his side dispersed his embarrassment. His manner had the complacency of victory.

He left her at the great wrought-iron gates, and as she went along the drive Pat was pleased she had decided to help him. She knew that his life had been lonely without excitement, that his shyness disguised a sensitive nature, and she recalled her father saying that Hugh needed to be en- couraged to value his own talents.

Simon would not refuse the request, she was sure. The boys' visit could be arranged to coincide with his absence from Craigwood, and in any case, the picture gallery could be reached as well from the back of the house as from the front.

Involuntarily, as she crossed the lawn, Pat's heart began to beat faster. She would speak to him after dinner tonight, follow him to the'terrace when he went out for a smoke. How fortunate that there were to be no guests this evening — unless he begged his tennis companions to change and come back. But it was unlikely that he would; the Belton twins were vivacious but not conspicuously intelligent, and Simon'soon became impatient of repetitive small talk.

Quite a crowd seemed to be having tea in the drawing-, room. They were laughing and chattering above the clinking

of cups and plates, and Mansell came from the kitchenwith a long-suffering expression and a pot of tea.

Pat went straight to the office to dear up the desk. Acrossthe top of the typewriter lay a sheet of paper containinga long list' of names, presumably of people whom Marionproposed to invite to dinner next week. The last few nameswere not in Marion's round feminine hand; they had beenscribbled in by Simon, and for that reason alone Pat couldnot help reading them first.

She took them in, and a feather of chill air blew abouther. Her hands were shaking. Four of the names in Simon'swriting were completely unknown to her, but sandwichedcomfortably between them was one she did know: "Mrs.Max Bristow". •

•She drew a sharp breath. Elise Bristow, the woman hehad loved, was coming to Craigwood, at Simon's invita-tion. Pat couldn't take it in, couldn't face fhe implications;they stung'like splinters of glass.' • She still stood there, one hand dendied at her side and

the other holding the list, when a sound came from behindher, in the doorv/ay. She didn't tarn round.

"Come along, Patricia," said Simon, in those infuriating,mocking tones of his, "or the tea will be all gone, andjoudeserve it more than most of us. You've done far too muchwork for one day." •»

His hand touched her shoulder and she stiffened; in amoment of helpless anger she''coui}d have thrust him aside.Habit came to her aid. She twisted and looked at himcoolly.

"I've finished. The rest can wait till tomorrow." At her tone his brows rose. "How you need that tea!"

he murmured, and stood aside to let her pass. Frightened by the upmsh of her own emotions, her

sinews contracted with the control she had imposed uponherself, Pat preceded him into the corridor and walked athis side to the lounge. She had forgotten that tonight shehad intended asking a favor of Simon; forgotten eveity-thing save that Elise Bristow had come back into his life.

* <! » «

It was next morning, while Marion was snipping flowersin the garden, that Pat spoke to Simon about Hugh Dyson.The two of them were standing some way. off from Marion,

72

near a seat beneath an ancient oak tree, and Simon was staring negligently ^over the grass which swept broadly down to the willows at the edge of the river. He wore rid- ing breeches and a white polo sweater, and the dark hair waved back crisply from the wide tanned forehead. He was looking younger, and his mouth was less indined to become thin with coldness and contempt.

Pat had to steel herself before she could speak. "Simon, I've something to ... to ask you."

"Have you, my child?" He looked at her lazily. "Some^ thing tremendous?"

"No, of course not. It has to do with the school." Still intent upon the view, she gave him details, and finished, "If you consent, perhaps you'll also say which day would be most convenient for Mr. Dyson to bring the boys."

Simon took a moment or two before enquiring, "Why are you the go-between? Not taking on the baliff's duties, are you?"

"I've told you that Mr. Dyson has already been in touch with the bailiff and been refused. He wouldn't have come to me, otherwise."

"The bailiff runs the place, you know." "Not the house — not while you're here!" "Dear me," he murmured sarcastically. "Strung up

• about it, aren't we? Is Dyson young and good-looking?" Pat's fingers curled into her palms. "Are you taming him

down?" "Heaven forb,id that I should stand in the way of the

boys' quest for culture, but I can't help being curious about this exemplary art master. In the first place Manbury never had a specialist of his kind before, and in the second he interests me as a man who seems to have rocked your equilibrium. I presume you and he have found that thing in common which is necessary to friendship. What is it this time?"

After a prickly silence, Pat said, "What shall I tell him?" "We'll do the thing properly. I'll telephone the Head and

make the arrangement. I won't forget to tell him that all credit for the suggestion must go to the art master. You needn't trouble to see Dyson about it at all."

•' "Very well."

I • 73

She tamed as though to leave him, but he, too, twisted!about, and they walked part of the way to the house with-out conversing.

Then Simon waved towards the stables. "How about %ride? Can you sit a horse?"

"Not too well, and I don't possess a riding kit. Besides, £have work to do." - "My notes? You can ignore them today."

"I was going to," she said hardily. "I have to type theinvitations for next week's party. Marion wants them to gooff today." ^

"Oh, yes." He paused briefly and flickered a glance ather. "Interesting list of guests, isn't it? Sixteen men andfourteen women. We'll be thirty-four altogether. Marion isa marvelous organizer." Another pause, then he queriedsoftly. "What are you upset about?"

This was Simon, coolly taking it for granted that he couldpoke into secrets she daren't even discuss with herself.

"I'm not upset," she answered. "You are, Patricia. I noticed it last night but thought

you'd overtired yourself at that damned typewriter andgot a bit hipped. But's it's still there this morning. Comeon, now, what's wrong?"

She averted herself. "Nothing's wrong." "Honestly?" "Nothing serious," she amended. "Are you beginning to wish you'd aeves taken on those

fflotebooks?" '•'Not at all. Simon . . ." "Yes?" He sounded attentive and obliging. Her voice lowered and so did her eyelids. "Please don't

dig all the time. Everyone has problems they'd rather handlein their own way."

Perhaps it was the trace of unsteadiness in her voicewhich silenced him for the next few seconds, or the quiverof red lips and dark lashes might have impressed him withthe fact that she was young and pitifully easy to hurt. Whenhe did answer it was unwonted gentleness.

"It's a pity one can't be as efficient in one's private lifeas in holding down a job, but the things which touch onepersonally can't be dealt with according to a set of rules,and there's no training for them except life itself. No one's

entirely proof against the spears, but you can forge a kindof armor against them. Don't worry to much, little one.Difficulties often smooth themselves out."

Pat nodded, unwilling to trust herself to speak. Simon inthis mood was dear and dangerous. She could parry hismockery, but his gentleness left her weak enough to leantowards him and weep. A sobbing laugh rose to her throat.How astonished and angry he'd be to find a tearful womanin his arms!

"That's right, smile," he said. "And don't straighten upand look so darned superior. Any woman is permitted toding once in a while."

"I'm not dinging!" He grinned. "A moment ago you wouldn't have needed

much encouragement." With this remark Pat recovered her composure. Marion

had described Elise Bristow as the helpless, clinging type;that had been theteis of her fasdnation for Simon. Well,Patricia Gordon wouldn't ding, much though she longedto, and she was by no means helpless.

They were at the foot of the steps, not so far from whereMrs. Cunliffe sat with the big-boned, dependable Charlotte.

"I must go in now," said Pat. "Have a good ride." "Don't drive yourself too hard. We'll play some tennis

later. So long." He called some pleasantry to his aunt and strode av/ay,

and Pat, somewhat less oppressed at heart, got down toroughing out the invitation for Marion's approval.

The short talk with Simon set the tone of her day, so thateven when it came to addressing Mrs. Bristow as "DealElise," she was able, by recalling the brief intimacy whichhad existed between herself and Simon, to still, the inevi-table qualm of uneasiness.

CT^? A l& ^ir TO n? TO T ^ TUT f" JriAA-IcK Ulljjil

IN the middle .of the afternoon she changed into a linensuit and walked the two miles to her father's cottage. It wascooler today, and overcast, and the wind sent eddies of lastyear's leaves whirling across the road to become imprisonedamong the fast-growing weeds and grass. By the time she

reached (he green gate a drizzle was being driven hori-zontally on the breeze.

Today, Edmund Gordon was alone. Mr. Rathem did allhis after^school work in his empty dassroom and seldomturned up at the house before five, and any afternoon whenMr. Gordon did not happen to be entertaining his col-leagues and friends was Mrs. Moss's afternoon off; she cameback at six to prepare aa evening meal.

So Pat made the tea and brought it to the comfortablesitting-room. Her father piled the books he had been mark-ing on the floor beside him and relaxed with a cup of -teaand a chocolate cake.

"It's funny how most schoolmasters look typical of theirprofession," Pat commented, regarding him affectionately."I believe anyone seeing you for the first time would knowat once that you're the English master at a school likeManbury. And Ratty couldn't be anything but 'history'with a nostalgia for Roman Britain."

He smiled. "What about Dyson? He looks more like theschool half-back than a master."

"He's at the beginning. He hasn't yet become mouldedby the andent and honorable stone walls." She stirred hertea, considering. "Hugh's appearance belies him. He'sterribly keen on art, and I daresay he'll grow into someonesather nice but slightly eccentric. I hope he'll marry."

"Do you?" he said, amused. "Why?" "He needs someone to whom he's frightfully important,

someone who'll tactfully ensure that he doesn't wear oddsocks or put a smoking pipe into his pocket. Is he a goodmaster?"

"He hasn't much idea of disdpline but he's discoveredboth a sculptor and a painter among the boys, so he must bedoing an excellent job." Thoughtfully, he went on, "Hehasn't quite enough self-confidence. I try to help him, butafter all, compared with him I'm an established fogey who'sforgotten the trials of youth. Oh, yes, I am, my dear" —as she made to protest. "Dyson's not nearly conceited enoughabout his capabilities. Living in the masters' quarters at theschool is not too good for him, either. A man of hischaracter should have frequent changes in his surround-ings."

76

Pat told him about the projected visit of the art master and several boys to the Craigwood picture gallery, and went on to ask about the other masters and their wives. Later, casually, she turned to the topic which had beenuppermost in her mind since yesterday.

"Do the Bristows still live at Dolbridge?" She knew they did, but the subject had to be opened somehow.

Her father set down his cup. "The Bristows," he echoed. "Dolbridge still belongs to them and Max is mostly there, I think, but his wife isn't too strong. She spends a lot of time in the south of France."

"Are there any children?" "No. It's not a happy marriage, though I've heard that

Max is fond of his wife. He's off to Ireland this week- end to buy horses."

That explained why only Elise was to be invited to Craig- wood. Pat recollected the shrewd slant of Simon's eyes as he mentioned the "interesting list of guests", and wished she knew whether his inclusion of Elise were a deliberate attempt to show anyone who happened to have a long memory that she had ceased to matter to him. But somehow Pat could not recondle such a sentiment with what she knew of Simon. If it were true that the woman could no longer rouse him, he would not trouble to seek her out. Was he preparing to test himself, or had he, too, heard that Elise was not happy with Max Bristow? How did a man feel upon learning that the woman he had loved had made a disastrous marriage with another man?

The ache of fright came again into Pat's throat. Until now the ten or twelve miles to Dolbridge had seemed an ample distance from Craigwood, but with a few strokes of his pen Simon had brought the place shatteringly dose.

"Why the sudden interest in the Bristows?" asked her father. "You've never met them, have you?"

Pat shrugged. "No, but Mrs. Bristow is coming to the party next week. I just wondered about her."

It seemed that this stirred no memories in Mr. Gordon; gossip mostly passed him by, and these particular rumors were five or six years old. "I last saw her two summers

; ago when she and Max came to a school gymkhana," he said. "She's exceptionally good-looking."

Pat had already guessed that Elise had been and possibly still was a beautiful woman. Simon had respect for lovelythings; he never said much about them but he never deridedthem, which was proof that beauty touched him fairly deeply. One couldn't imagine him falling in love with aplain woman.

A little sickened, Pat took the tray to the kitchen, washed and put away the china. Back in the sitting-room she foundher father once more immersed in his exercise books. Shebent and kissed him. He was the sound, stable thing in this tilting world.

"Good-bye, my dear," he said. "If it's raining you'dbetter wrap yourself in my mac." I shall expect you on Sunday."

Tiny spots still drifted off the wind and the sky hungover the village like a cold leaden lid. The drizzle was negligible — it might never develop into real rain —butPat decided to take the shorter path to Craigwood throughthe wood and over the river. She left her father's raincoathanging in the hall because he was bound to need it soonhimself. A rainy spell seemed to be setting in.

The first part of the wood was all beech trees. The Maa-bury district was famous for its great prodigal beeches. Butfarther on the trees became more varied, first slim birchescreeping in, then smooth ash and crab-apple, wild plumsmothered in brambles, and, in the damp hollows, the palegreen of young willows. In these woods Pat had playedand picnicked and sought wild flowers; she had cut stemsof pussy-willow and eaten wild strawberries, had told thepungent-smelling earth her joys and it had soaked up herchildish sorrows.

Walking swiftly along the dim path she felt better thaashe had at the cottage. The rain was coming faster but shefelt only an occasional cold plop on her scalp and linen-clad shoulders; unless it poured the branches were adequateprotection. One felt safe among the friendly trees, safe andunassailable. Troubles were no more than a root archingin the path or a twig that caught at the skirt.

Rain pattered into the trees overhead, making forestmusic, the leaves became burdened and tipped away theirsurplus. Pat's hair darkened with moisture and her shoulderswere cold with it, but she was not unduly concerned. Hee

suit was easy to wash and at least two years old,' and sum- mer rain after a day of wind and weighted skies had an invigorating quality to be found in nothing else. She loved the smell and feel of the atmosphere.

Suddenly she heard a shout and stopped dead. Simon was approaching at a lope, a bundle clasped close to his belted raincoat. He^was still ten yards away when she saw that he •was annoyed and a little out of breath.

"You idiot!" he exclaimed. "Here, put this on or you'll hook a chill."

He was holding out her waterproof, but Pat, temporarily witless, was aware only of his streaming hair and face. And absurdly it came to her that the rain suited him, as

well as her. "How did you get here?" she asked dazedly. He made a sound of exasperation, felt her shoulder and

dragged her dise to a tree trunk for more shelter. The same hand unceremoniously raked back her hair, as if she were a

child. "You're drenched! Take off that jumper thing and get

into this." Startled, she stared at him. He flung out an irritable hand

and turned his back to her. "For Pete's sake, move! I'll give you just thirty

seconds!" Pat knew he meant it. Swiftly, and unconscously smiling,

she struggled out of the linen jacket and slipped on the raincoat. She was fumbling to do up the buttons when the humor of the situation smote her more forcibly, and she began to laugh, almost uncontrollably.

"Extremely funny," he said, pushing the hood of the waterproof up over her head. "I suppose it never occurred to you to go out prepared for rain. It's been threatening all

day." "I don't mind a wetting. How did you know where to

find me?" He had hold of her arm and was making her walk fast;

go fast that at once she began to get hot. "I went up to the school this afternoon. Seeing that the

visit of the art class to our picture gallery seemed important. to you, I thought it best to conduct the matter personally.

I had tea with the Head and made the arrangements, and as

- TO

I was near yoar father's place I called there oa my wayhome. He said you'd just left, so I eacpected to pick you upon the road. By the time I reached the house it was rain-ing pretty hard, and as they hadn't seen anything of you Iguessed you'd chosen to come this way."

"So you grabbed my waterproof and came after me. Thatwas sweet of you, Simon, even if you are a bit of a bearabout it. Thanks wry much."

"Reserve your thanks till tomorrow," he warned her. "IfI hear one sneeze out of you I'll spank you."

She wanted to laugh again. This was marvellous, tramp-ing along with Simon's arm hard against her side, hisshoulder firmly behind and above her own. It made onebelieve in mirades. After this she would love trees in thethe rain even more than she had loved them before.

Simon was saying, "At the school I met the ingenuousDyson. Is that what appeals to you about him — hisingenuousness?"

"I wouldn't describe him that way," she said. "He simplydoesn't happen to be very interested in himself as aperson."

"You're wrong there." Simon spoke dearly but withoutemphasis. "I'd say that a man who flushes easily is a sighttoo taken up with himself, particularly when he happensto have the artistic temperament. A fellow of his ageshould have learned the elementary principles of self-control."

"But you're flinty, Simon," she told him, "and I don'tsuppose you were ever self-consdous. Hugh has always livedin a small world which hadn't much time for him. Beforecoming to Manbury he was master at a prep. school, andbefore that he did a lot of solitary studying. Yet he'siessentially the type who should not be too much alone."

She had to pick her way carefully so she could not lookmp at him, but she recognized the sarcastic note when hereplied; ^

"You'd like to mother him, wouldn't you, Patrida? Takecare of him when he has a cold, remind him gently thatpresent-day artists don't wear long hair and baggy trousers,and use his tweed-covered chest to lean upon when you'retired." He helped her to sidestep a, soggy patch in the path.

"You're well aware, of course, that he's on the way tofalling in love with you?"

It took Pat a moment or two to absorb this, and then itwas so fantastic that she straightway rejected it. "He can'tbe. I've only seen him three times!"

"You underrate your charms, my sweet," he said, histone as cool as the rain which washed about them. "Besidesbeing a career girl you're cosy and desirable. Don't you wantDyson to fall in love with you ?"

Cosy and desirable? Was Simon still mocking? "What good would come of it?" she said. "Exactly. That was how I saw it, too," he stated evenly.

"So when he mentioned that you'd arranged to meet himon Saturday, 'I said that now he had permission to come toGraigwood, a talk with you about it was hardly necessary."

"Oh. I was going to Exeter with him." "He confessed as much, but you're well out of that. It's

going to be a wet week-end." "But it wasn't kind, Simon. He'll think I've turned him

down." "In effect, you have." "But I dislike hurting people, and in this case it isn't a

bit necessary. I could have gone with him and probablyenjoyed it." '

"My dear Patricia," he said patronizingly, "an occasionalflick of the whip now may save the man tortures later on,Far better to ward off a proposal from him than to have totear his heart. You must admit the wisdom of that." Apause, v/hile his disengaged hand shoved back his hair andpulled the tamed-up collar doser about his dun. Then heasked conversationally, "How would you like to marry aschoolmaster and spend the rest of your days in Manbury?"

"The two don't have to go together," she replied, care-fully casual, "but I don't mind owning to a liking forManbury, and I manage to get on very well with school-masters."

"No hankering yet for the southern seas?" "I never yearn for the impossible." Which was not quite correct. Pat would not have been

normal if she had not dreamed, and longed for thosedreams, however unlikely, to come true. But there werethings one could never reveal to Simon.

ai

"Then you must be aa exceptionally unusual woman,"he said and, without changing his tone, "Are your feetwet?"

After that his remarks were infrequent and impersonal.He hurried her out of the wood and over the bridge at &pace which left her no breath for talking, and as theycame within sight of the house he made her run andmount the steps two at a time.

In the hall he dropped the soaked linen jacket over hescoat-sleeve. Instinctively she moved towards the great logfire, but Simon caught her elbow.

"Upstairs!" he commanded. "A hot bath and dry youehair."

She smiled at him, her skin shining with rain, grey eyesstill tender and unguarded from the outdoor duskiness.With the hood fallen back from her wet and rufBed hairand her mouth parted she looked young and untouched. Helooked down at her for a long moment and made a move-ment which, in another man, might have been a preliminaryto a kiss. Then his mouth thinned.

"Get going," he said abruptly. Without a word she tamed and ran up the stairs.

* * * * It was not Pat's habit to sing in the bath but this even-

ing she caught herself humning. No particular tune; merelya medley which must have been coursing through her sub-conscious mind to accompany her happily chaotic consdousthoughts.

There was a fire in her roorcL and when she had towelledand set her hair she sat in front of it, her dressing-gownsnug about her, her slippered toes toasting on the stonecurb. Odd that she should have awakened so miserablethis morning to a day which had tamed out to be morethan ordinarily bright. The rain beyond the window, thewind soughing in the trees, served only to heighten hercautious happiness.

She wondered, foolishly, if she looked as "cosy anddesirable" as she felt. Supposing Simon were to come innow . . . She gave a little laugh and tried to switch hesthoughts.

The first knock at the door was that of a servant sent bySimon with a cocktail. The warmth of the liquid in bss

throat, the red glow of the fire and the encompassingcomfort that was Craigwood, bemused Pat into a state ofdelicious expectancy. Nothing ever remained static and tonight only that which was good could happen. A youth-ful conclusion which had no basis in fact.

When the second rap on the door was immediately followed by Marion's entering the room and decisively coming to stand beside the fire, Pat felt too beautifully lethargic to do more than smile and indicate the ether chair. But something in Mrs. Leigh's face, an expression of sharp worry which had connection with the slim locked fingers and braced back, communicated itself to the room. Pat drew into her chair, dasped her own hands tightly, and waited.

"They told me you'd been caught in the rain. Dried out?" asked Marion, obviously expecting no answer.

She touched the cameo brooch at the neck of her severely- cut'mulberry silk frock and sank with a sigh into the chair. For a minute she stared into the flaming heart of the logs, as if putting a question, and then, as usual, her fingers stretched to the heat. Her head turned and she looked straight at Pat.

"I had to come and speak to you, because . . ." She tailed off and started again. "Why do so few things materialize as one plans them ? We're not asking such a lot, are we, yet there isn't the least sign that we'll ever get what we want."

"Simon?" said Pat. "Yes, Simon." Another sigh. "Didn't it occur to you,

when you were typing those letters, that Elise Bristow is the woman we once hoped he'd marry?"

Pat nodded, and a distinct chill feathered along her spine. "Weren't you aware her name was on the list?"

"No; it amazed me when I saw it. I wrote out the list and gave it to Simon. I didn't see it again till I went to the office to sign those letters this afternoon. Has he spoken to you about her, Pat?"

"Of course not. Why should he?" "It wouldn't look so serious if he did mention her name,

,but to invite her here without saying a word . . ." She paused, and went on moodily, "I haven't seen her for

83

years aad she's new been a guest here since Simon wea£ away. She'll leap to condusions."

"Do you think he hasn't seen her yet?" "It's beastly. I don't know what to think." The cosiness was shattered. Pat's toes burned, the backs

of her feet were icy, yet she resolutely reminded herself that nothing was changed from half an hour ago. She had known most of this then.

"Simon may be doing this deliberately. After all, it's going to be a fairly big party and there'll be quite a crowd to whom he'll be able to demonstrate how little she bothers him now."

"My dear," said Marion wearily, "if you knew Simon as well as I do you wouldn't give that angle a single thought. He doesn't care what ethers think of him. I'm not afraidthat he'll fall in love with Elise all over again, but merelyseeing the woman and remembering what for him were herperfections will put other women out of the miming. She'stwenty-seven now, and probably lovelier than ever. Shealways needed cosseting, and no doubt still does." Marionshrugged hdplessly. "She should have lived fifty years ago.Girls aren't like that nowadays — the pace of living won'tallow it — yet there's something about that type which getsnnder the skin of a man and rouses all the protectiveinstincts. It makes me angry."

"She's married," Pat put in weakly. "That's little comfort. The danger lies in her being

Sitere, among the other women. Simon will watch andcompare — he won't be able to help it — and the othergirls will come out the losers."

There was a silence, a queer molten silence. Somethingnnquenchable blazed up in Pat, so that she had to springto her feet and thrust aside her chair.

"It's hard lines about Simon, isn't it! Why should hehave the pick of the women in the neighborhood when hehasn't even a heartwhole love to offer to one of them ? Doyou think he deserves it? Doesn't he realize that at leasthalf his attraction is his background, his money? Well, Ithink it's about time he did! You want him to marrybecause you hope that marriage would keep him here, or atleast provide the place with an heir, but what about thesroman? I suppose she has to be suitably humble and

yielding, and eternally grateful fbt the privilege of being

married to Simon Leigh!" "Why, Pat!" Marion leaned back, staring at the youthful,

scarlet cheeks. "I'd no idea you felt like that. What yousay is true — Simon isn't likely to have much more than aloyal affection for the woman he might marry, but shewouldn't come out too badly, because whatever he lackedin the way of deep, unflagging love, his fidelity could becounted upon. I'm sure of that. And in time she mightbecome indispensable to him."

"Meanwhile she has to be the second-best!" Marion replied slowly, her glance unswervingly upon

Pat's face. "Possibly, but there are some who wouldn'tobject to that. Simon at his best has a lot to give: kindness,companionship, security, and I'll wager he'd make a morethan satisfactory lover."

Pat's anger died as swiftly as it had risen. She felt drainedand dull and not too sure that she had spoken sensibly.Anyway, that had been no way to address one's employer.Marion must think her mad. She moved round to the backof her chair and lifted, the blue frock which had been

placed upon the bed. "I don't know why I flared like that. I'm sorry," she

said in flat tones. "For your sake I hope he'll marry and settle her, but I doubt if he will."

"Aunt Alison thinks otherwise." Marion hesitatedthoughtfully. "She's old — some things are dearer to her than they are to us, and some are more obscure. In her opinion it's foolish to surround him with eligible young women — she says that if Simon comes across one that helikes he'll keep a rein on her himself, without any assistance. She may be right, but I hate to take chances. We've so'little time." She stood up. "I still can't contemplate Elise Bristow without feeling she's a menace, but it seems we shall have to face the fact that Simon intends to be friendly withher."

As soon as Marion had gone Pat slipped into her dress. It was still raining, but the noise of the wind had a moresinister note; it seemed to get right inside the room and to echo in the corners like moans of warning. Pat shivered.The wind reminded her of Christmas, and she wonderedwhere they would all be by then.

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CHAPTER NINE

THE weather continued blustery and sunless with squalls ofrain that scoured the countryside and filled the dykes. OldMrs. Chard, who ran the combined post office and tack-shopin the village, still insisted that it would be a hot summer.Her prophecy relied on several time-tested s\gns in earthand sky, and most people were anxious to believe in it,for last winter had been a long and dreary one and soonManbury would be holding the Summer Fair.

At Craigwood there could be no tennis or lounging in thegarden. Mrs. Cunliffe and Charlotte played many games ofcards in the drawing-room, and Marion and Pat were busycompiling a menu for the party and making arrangementsfor additional help in die kitchen. Mansell, who preferredbeing caretaker in an empty house to the duties of man-servant in an occupied one, departed for his holiday, andParker and his wife arrived from London to take over. Ednacame, too, full of awe and a nev/ song she had learnedwhile staying with a sister at Margate.

There was plenty for Pat to do that week. A faultlessdinner for thirty-four people was a huge problem, even atCraigwood where there was an abundance of dairy produce,vegetables and early fruits; and the house had to look itsbest, as well. The hall, when the village handy-man hadfinished polishing the floor and panelling and Parker hadrearranged the massive chairs and sofas to Mrs. Cunliffe'sliking, looked as huge and baronial as in the days whenthe first Leighs had flung wide their hospitable doors to thegentry of the neighborhood. The drawing-room was magni-ficent, and at night the chandeliers shed brilliant light uponthe blue and gold damask chairs, the gleaming old tables,the rich Aubusson carpet. The grand piano was the onlymodern piece in the room, and cleverly disguised by three-feet tall Chinese vases which were to be filled with yellowand gold hothouse blooms. The pianist would appear as iffloating in a golden bower, /

That thought came back to Pat as she supervised theplacing of the giant blossoms the morning of the party. Shehad a most queer sensation inside and her appetite was

non-existent but no one had any time foe mjoae elsetoday. Even Aunt Alison was making last-minute changesto the bedrooms which had been allocated as rest-roomsfor the ladies, and Simon had disappeared ia the burgundycar and would be out to lunch.

The frantic morning eased into afteroGca quiet. UpoaSimon's instructions everyone, induding the servants, was tolie down for at least two hours. Pat lay oa her bed andlistened to the birds and the rustling branches; she wasalmost tired enough to sleep, but each time she dozed anunpleasant throbbing of her pulses became unbearably loudand she came wide awake to find herself ezdted and emptyand horribly apprehensive.

Marion had persuaded her to wear white that evening,and had even provided a spray of speckled orchids. Herown gown was of navy watered silk, an excellent foil forthe shaped mby and diamond necklace with matching ear-rings. Aunt Alison's erect figure looked superb in a tight-sleeved sage green gown, and Charlotte had created amasterpiece of the plentiful white hair; it was drawn up msoft waves from the thin aristocratic face and surmountedby a small and dainty tiara.

When Pat went down to the hall the other two womenand Simon were already there. Nothing about him suggestedthat his heart might have quickened with antidpation, andhis hands, as he poured drinks and presented them to theladies, were as steady as ever. Presumably he had alreadycomplimented his aunt and sister-in-law on their attire, forhe merely flickered his greenish gaze over Pat's whiteslendemess and gave her the suspidon of^ an approvingwink. He must be feeling good. He was looking good, too;heartbreakingly handsome and every inch the suave host.

Guests began to arrive, most of them people who hadbeen to the house during the past week or so, but some whowere, strangers to Pat. She took the women's wraps andhanded them over to the nervous Edna, and joined in theconversation when necessary. She saw Simon greet herfather and knew a moment of gladness that they likedeach other — these two men she loved above other men. .

She was near the great carved oak door, only a yard orso behind Parker who was stationed there because the door^told not be left wide in such a wind. There was a

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moment's respite while the newest arrivals were led towards one of the fires, and more drinks were served. Then Parker, his hearing intent upon the sound of still another car braking at the foot of the steps outside, ceremoniously drew back the door. There came the sound of light foot- steps in the wide porch, and suddenly, Elise Bristow was framed in the Gothic doorway, gold silk dress blowing, gold velvet wrap held tight to her throat by white, pointed fingers, and the golden cap of her hair stirring only slightly at each temple.

She came into the hall and stood still. Simon stepped forward, took her hand and bowed over it. For a horrid second Pat thought he would kiss that white wrist.

"Hallo, Elise. How are you?" he said conventionally. "So glad you could come. Did you drive yourself?"

She shook her head, smilingly. "I still haven't the nerve to drive, but we have a servant who acts as chauffeur when I need one." Her voice was breathless and eager. "How nice of you to invite me. I was so surprised, Simon, it's — it's been such a long time."

"Yet you look no different," he said, "unless it's more golden and beautiful than ever. Let me have your coat."

Woodenly, like one taking the leading role in a night- mare, Pat moved, to receive the soft burden of velvet. She held out an arm, and smiled.

Simon said, "Elise, this is Patrida Gordon. I don't think you know her. Mrs. Bristow, Pat. You two ought to find something in common."

Pat was incapable of deciding whether he was getting at her in a calculated, satirical way, or merely being polite. She murmured a word or two and went away to place the wrap in Edna's care.

It was quite a few minutes before her courage took her back to the hall, and inevitably she gravitated towards the group presided over by Marion. From where she sat between her father and a brother of the Belton twins, she could see Simon away at the other side of the hall, leaning carelessly beside the fireplace and smiling down at the exquisite golden woman he once had loved.

Against the rich dark panelling they appeared isolated

' from the rest of the company, each absorbed in the other.

s»

It seemed to Pat thai- she would never be able to shut oatfrom her mind that symmetrical, heart-wrenching picture.

* * • « * The dinner went off superlatively well. The immense

length of the dining-table, scintillating with silver andglass, embroidered down the centre with oblong bowls ofdelicate white flowers, and lit by several tall branchedcandlesticks, stretched away like a silver-gilt path in thedim room. Simon reigned at the head of the table, and hisaunt at the foot, and conversation flowed ceaselessly, likewavelets on a friendly shore.

Pat answered her companions when they addressed her,but whether she wanted to or not, it was Elise, seateddiagonally on the opposite side of the table, whom shewatched. She saw the smooth, ineffectual fingers prod atfood with a fork but raise very little of it to the small,reddened mouth. She saw the eyes, a dear, sapphire blue,tarn their baffled and pleading expression towards Simon;and she could not avoid witnessing the faint, pretty flushwhich rose under the pale skin when Simon caught heiglance and smiled.

Pat got the impression that Elise had been completelyamazed and perhaps alarmed to receive an invitation fromMrs. Leigh. She might even have been afraid, temporarily,to accept it. She was the type of woman who is oftenfrightened and is encouraged in nervousness by the pro-tective male. She had escaped a woman's usual duties ofrunning a home and children, had never had to earn aliving or get along without servants; she spent much ofher time idling in a warmer dimate.

Her quick, smiling reaction to a remark from one ofher neighbors showed that Elise was automatically andinfinitely feminine. One could imagine that she lovedgaiety, but not too much of it; that she could respond tolove-making so long as it remained gentle and adoring; nowhite-hot emotions for Elise. She had a sweet, tentacle-like charm, yet Pat could not for the life of her imagine how such a woman had hdd in thrall the terse and violent

Simon. But such things did happen, she sighed inwardly, for

was not Elise married to the large and tough Max Bristow? Simon and Max were of different breeds, the one taut-

sinewed and aquiline of feature, the other heavy andmuscular, wonderful with horses but less successful withwomen. Both were intensely masculine, and Pat had herfather's word for it that Max was fond of his wife. Thevery thought that Simon might find himself slipping backinto a condition in which Elise typified all that he deemedlovely in a woman left Pat tense and trembling. It mustn'thappen. It mustn't.

It was a relief when Aunt Alison gave the signal forthe ladies to move. Pat went from the room and up thestaircase with Honour Willings, an intelligent youngwoman who confided, during the following half-hour overa cigarette, that she wanted to be a doctor.

It was much later, when the guests, exhausted with eat-ing, drinking and dandng, were beginning to depart, thatPat had a private word with Elise Bristow. Elise was adjust-ing her wrap in front of the mirror in the bedroom whenPat, having said good night to her father, came in to getthe coat of one of the older women who was too weary todimb the stairs. With the black coat over her arm, Patpaused.

"There's a light over the mirror," she said, involuntarilybehaving as everyone else did with Elise. "Would youlike me to switch it on?"

"No, thank you," came the soft, careful reply. Elisetamed, her small face colorless except for the rouge shad-ing over the cheekbones. "I always look ghastly when I'mtired."

"What a pity. The party has hung on rather late. Youcould have gone earlier."

"Simon would have been disappointed." Elise drew alipstick across her mouth and gathered her purse. "Are yourelated to the Leighs?" she asked.

"Not in the least. What made you think I might be?" "The way they treat you — and you live here in the

house, don't you?" "I'm Mrs. Leigh's secretary." Slowly but visibly Elise relaxed. Her chin tilted slightly.

"Is that so? I've heard of people who become secretariesand companion's and eventually make a good thing out ofit."

For a few seconds Pat was stunned. So this delicate littlething had daws, though why she should trouble to un-sheath them now was beyond comprehension. Maybe tired-ness had taxed her control, or the meeting with Simonmight not have reached her expectations.

"I've heard of them, too," said Pat, "but I've never yetmet one. I believe they're mainly fictitious. Shall we godown?"

Simon was waiting at the foot of the staircase. Hegrinned at Pat and took Elise to say good night to hisaunt and Marion. Pat quivered. She still had the bonelessfeeling of Elise's proximity.

The guests were gone and Pat was collecting plates andglasses from the far recesses of the hall and drawing-roomwhile Parker loaded and carried away the trays. She heardMrs. Cunliffe and Mrs. Leigh call good night and answeredthem as cheerfully as she was able.

She was about to switdi off the drawing-room lightswhen her glance was attracted to a tiny column of smokefrom under a low table. She flew across to it, sank downupon her knees, and snatched up the smouldering cigarettebutt. HOW dare anyone be so careless in the home ofanother! This beautiful carpet . . ."

"Playing hunt the thimble all by yoursdf?" enquiredSimon at her back. "Come on, Patrida, it's too late forthat."

He held her shoulders and lifted her, but the momentshe was on her feet she bent away from him to dropthe butt into an ashtray. Still quivering, she pointed.

•"Just look! It's burnt a hole in the carpet. Wouldn'tyou think any man would have more about him than todo a thing like that!"

"It might have been a woman. Lucky you noticed it,aay pet."

She twisted to confront him, a muscle working in herthroat. "Can't you get angry about it! Through someone'scarelessness the carpet is burnt. They don't make carpetslike that any more."

"It's a tiny hole, and I daresay it can be repaired. It'shardly important when you consider that we might allhave gone to bed and been smoked alive." His grip tensed

On the arm he held. "Stop shaking. It isn't important, I tell you!"

Pat wrenched her arm free; her face was white, her grey eyes blurred. "Nothing at Craigwood is important to you, is it? A priceless carpet can be ruined but you couldn't be bothered to care. You never think of anyone or anything but yourself. You don't care whom you hurt so long as your own conceit is satisfied . , ."

"Hold on, now." He spoke with peremptory calmness. "Is all this because of a pea-sized hole in the carpet, or are you letting out a lot of pent-up steam?" He didn't wait for a reply. "You're flat out, Patricia, and a little un- nerved by the enormity, of what might have happened if you hadn't discovered that cigarette. I know you've been an- noyed with me since I stopped your little outing with Dyson last Saturday, but it's not worth getting keyed up about. If I'd guessed it might really hurt you I wouldn't have done it. Believe it or not, I want to see you happy, and if Dyson makes you that way you'd better have him."

The words sobered Pat. She grabbed at them as a drown- ing man grabs at a lifeline. She hadn't given herself away, after all. Simon had conduded that she had a weakness for Hugh Dyson, and it was safeir and much less harrowing to let him go on thinking that way. Anything rather than have him suspect that she was vanquished by whatever it was that had existed between himself and Elise Bristow.

"So long as you understand," she said thinly. There was a silence during which neither moved. Then

Simon pushed his hands rather forcibly into his pockets and moved away.

"Yes, I understand, Patricia. You can make it up with Dyson when he brings the boys here tomorrow. They're due at four o'clock." He went to the door, and when she had passed him he snapped off the lights. "Good night," he

'said. "You'd better lie late in the morning."

* « » »

Next day Marion and Aunt Alison expressed themselves satisfied with che party. Neither of them mentioned Elise, probably because both were trying to forget that she had been here, in this house, and had looked as charming in the setting as she had five'years ago.

92

Pat helped Parker to wash the glassware and polish the. silver, and she went upstairs with Edna to share the dusting of the bedrooms. But at last it was all done, and she sought refuge in the office.

There were a few letters to write and the last of Simon's notes to type. She had no inclination for either, but today the sun was making fitful appearances, so that the view through the window had an enthralling tranquility, which was an incentive to stay and work, and occasionally to break off to brood upon the gold and green of the alders and

chestnuts. Hugh and his contingent drove up in the school station

wagon promptly at four. His tweeds had been newly pressed and his thick hair slicked with cream to disguise the need of a hair-cut, and if his tie was a shade off-side that much absentmindedness was tolerable in an art master. Parker served tea and large schoolboy buns in the garden,

and thereafter conducted the tour. Upon meeting Pat as the tea things were being deared,

Hugh had gazed at her and said, "Couldn't you come with us? There's no fun in showing off one's knowledge of

good paintings only to boys." So Pat drifted along the picture gallery, listening to

Hugh's reverent explanations and to the boys' pertinent, if less respectful, innuendos. When the group returned from the back of the house to the drive, Marion came out for a friendly exchange with Hugh. Simon must have been in- doors, just the other side of the drawing-room window, but doubtless he saw no need to make an appearance. By allowing the visit he had done his duty, and if he could

help it he would do no more. , The boys were in the station wagon and Hugh preparing

to take his place behind the wheel, when Pat said, "I'm sorry about last Saturday, Hugh. It wasn't my fault."

He brightened considerably and the sparkle she was beginning to know very well came into his eyes. "I hoped it wasn't; that's the worst of living with your employer, isn't it? May I see you again soon?"

"I always have Sunday tea with my father." "Would he mind if I made a third?" "Try it once and see what happens."

93

He gave a short happy laugh and edged into his seat.For the first time today Pat found herself smiling. Hughwas so easy to handle, so easy to please.

He did come to her father's cottage the following Sunday,and Edmund Gordon welcomed him with quirt and sincerecordiality and straightway sent him to assist Pat in thekitchen. Hugh made the toast and at intervals marvelledat the simplicity of the culinary arrangements.

"I haven't lived in a house since I was a child," he said,interestedly taking all the egg pans from a poacher andreplacing them in their circles. ''I was eight when I wentto boarding school and I used to spend vacations in anhotel with my uncle; did it for years. Since I've grownup it's been small-town digs."

Pat looked at him, thinking how much he had missed."After that, living at the school must be grand."

"It is." Hugh was tipping one batch of slices from thetoaster and inserting another. "I've two very comfortablerooms and a porter brings my meals." His voice tingedwith self-consciousness he went on, -"The Head's wifecame to my quarters the other day to see if I found theplace to my liking — apparently she's used to new masterscomplaining, and I hadn't. As a matter of fact there isn'ta thing to complain about. She told me that if I marry Ican move into a three-roomed bungalow-!^ His head wasstudiously bent. "Decent of her, wasn't it?"

"Yes, she's nice. The bungalows are fairly new — aninnovation since my father started at Manbury."

He ploughed on. "She said that the Head himself askedher to come and see how I was getting along. He's pleasedwith my work and wants me to settle at the school."

"I'm not surprised." Pat was filling the teapot, settingit upon the trolley. "'My father says you're making thewhole school art-consdous, and have even discovered acouple of potential geniuses. Reach me the tea-cosy from

the dresser, will you?" He was in such a hurry to oblige that the comer of his

jacket tipped over the toaster. A scrambling moment andthen everything was righted, but Hugh was red and self-

deprecating. "Poor Aing about the house, aren't I?" he said. "It's

due to having had no practice, but I suppose I'd get inr'

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te way of it. It only takes an average amount of commonsense."

"And a sense of humor," she added kindly. "Will youpush the trolley into the sittting-room, Hugh?"

He ate a large quantity of toast and several cakes, andPat suspected that he was one of those men who seldomgive proper attention to food when they are alone. He wasreally hungry, and she thought impatiently that such help-lessness in a man was all wrong. It was his duty to eat themeals brought by the porter, not to daydream and forgetthem. Nor should any man need a woman to keep himnormal.

Edmund Gordon was finishing his second cup of teawhen the matter of the summer vacation cropped up. Itwas Pat who put the first question.

"Darling, are you still going off to the Lake District?" "I think so." Her father rested an interrogative glance

npon Hugh. "What about you, Dyson? Are your plansunchanged?"

"Yes, sir. That is .. ." He hesitated and carefully placedhis cup upon the trolley. "To hike around the Lake Districtand do some sketching sounds great to me. If nothingintervenes I'll be glad to go with you."

"It may be your last chance as a bachelor," Mr. Gordonreturned, his eyebrow quizzically cocked. "There aren'tmany women who'd take to that type of holiday."

"Oh, I don't know," said Pat reasonably. "Hugh maynot get' married for a few years yet, but when he does he's

bound to pick a woman with similar interests to his own;even if she doesn't sketch she might like to read while hedoes, and offer admiration whenever he slacks."

"I wouldn't mind giving up the sketching," Hughanswered, looking at her as if he and she were alone. "I'dhave so much that counted more."

Mentally scolding herself for unwittingly leading him on,Pat made room near the teapot for her cup. For a momentshe dare not tarn her father's way, but when he contentedlystretched his legs she knew that what danger there had beenwas past. He hadn't realized a danger existed, bless hisheart.

"I think we'll arrange to leave at the beginning ofAugust," he said. "I wish you could go with us, Pat, but

95

as you can't, it will be pleasant to know that you'll stillbe here when we return. We must work out a route,Dyson; I'll find my large-scale map of the district." ••• •

The talk became impersonal, and even when Hughlater accompanied her to the gates of Craigwood he madeno further references to relinquishing .his bachelor state.Probably he felt that he had gone far enough for one day,but they did not part till he had fixed up another meeting.For all his abstractedness, he could be tenacious of thethings which offered happiness; that was how he hadeventually arrived at Manbury School.

Pat thought she understood the situation in which hefound himself. For the first time in his life he had a homewhich could, if he wished, be his till he retired from teach-ing. Though younger than his colleagues, he got alongwell with them, and imparting knowledge to boys whowere old enough to appreciate the arts even if, at times,they were facetious about them, was by no means boring.And Manbury was beautiful; the emerald playing fields,the lichened walls of the college, the village, the snuglittle farms which nestled everywhere in the countryside,the willow-draped river, all exuded peace and fullness.Possibly the very spirit of the place made a man wantto marry and become part of it. She knew that feeling;'she also knew that before long she must be ruthlesslyhonest with Hugh.

CHAPTER- TEN

rHE following week Pat completed the fair copy of Simon'snotes, which had now been moulded into the form of alengthy report. She checked it thoroughly, unmoved by itsatmosphere of sultry and exotic adventure. She had gotover the first thrill at the wonders of fhe Coral Sea, andnow experienced only an antipathy for the slumbrousislands of Melanesia and the clear, brilliantly-alive waters.She loathed them because they had claimed Simon once andwould do so again.

The day the report was finished and placed in Simon'sroom, Elise Bristow came to Craigwood. She had knownthat Simon would be out, she said; he had told her as much

yesterday, when he had come -over to Dolbridge to inspectMax's new horses. But he had left behind his cigarette-case and she rather thought that as it was an old friendhe would miss it. No, she wouldn't stay, thanks; and wouldPat please give her regards to Mrs. Leigh and Mrs. Cunliffe.

Long after Elise had purred away in the long car, herexpensive perfume lingered in the hall.-Pat walked fromwindow to window, fighting a surge of bitter emotion. Sohe was following up his meeting with Elise; he had waited,of course, till Max should be there, for that rigid code ofhis would not permit his calling on a married woman dur-ing her husband's absence. But as soon as he'd heard thatMax was back he hadn't been able to keep away. What didhe hope to gain from seeing Elise in her own-domesticsurroundings? Would a man like Simon purposely tormenthimself with what might have been?

Pat tried not to believe it. Simon was behaving circum-spectly, treating the Bristows as neighbors and friends. Forhim, this stay at Craigwood was merely an interlude, andit probably amused him to lay old ghosts and rumors.- When Marion came down her gaze went at once to the slim monogrammed cigarette-case on the centre table. Shetook it up and lifted her head.

"Did Simon leave this here?" Stiffly intent upon the chestnut branches out in the

garden Pat explained. Her final word fell into a pool of silence.

"So that's that," said Marion tonelessly, at last. "We've filled the house with 'attractive girls, but it seems that no one can take the place of Elise. If she were free he wouldn't marry her, because he'd never quite trust her again, but apart from the lack of intergrity she's everything he wants in a woman. Unless Craigwood itself can keep him, we've lost, Fat."

Pat turned from the window, thus shadowing her face. "Mrs. Leigh, can't we go back to London, you and I? There isn't eonugh to do here and I dislike wasting my time."

"Don't be absurd — you haven't wasted time. Besides, you were due for a holiday. I suggest that you set about having some fun. The very next warm day we'll spend at the coast — it's only twenty miles away. And I don't see why you shouldn't make a few dates of your own. You'ce

911 97

not bound to be on hand here every day. Get out andabout, and forget us."

Pat could summon no response to this. To forget Craig-wood and its present pains and problematical joys would beto seal up one's heart and live only with the brain, whichwas a state of affairs she knew herself incapable of sustain-ing for long. She would like to laugh and have fun, though,to recapture the debonair attitude towards life which hadbeen hers before the advent of Simon.

She became aware that Mrs. Cunliffe was making netregal way down the stairs, and she crossed the hall toshake up the cushion in the older woman's favorite chair^and pull forward a footstool.

"You're very thoughtful, my dear," said Aunt Alison, asshe gratefully lowered herself and raised her feet. "Hownice it is to have one's tea in the bedroom and dress inleisurely fashion. I was just thinking, as Charlotte was doingmy hair how dreadful it would be if she were to die beforeI do." '

"Aunt Alison!" exclaimed Marion. "What's so shocking about it?" said Mrs. Cunliffe

serenely. "Thinking around such subjects doesn't makethem imminent. One benefit of growing old is that yoelose most of your fears."

"Fears aren't always bad things."" "No, but they detract so much from one's happiness. Ifs

far better to trust what you know and leave the rest to workitself out."

"What do you mean by ... trust what you know?" "My dear Marion" — the deep eyes twinkled — "you're

being purposely obtuse. I mean trust what you know aboutpeople."

After a minute, Marion said, "I wish I had your confi-dence in the future."

"You will have, when you're my age." She cast a smileup at Pat. "You look strained, Patricia. It's an odd butindisputable fact that young folk invariably find countrylife more exacting than the hurly-burly of town. I believeyou've actually lost color since you came down, and youwere pale enough then."

"It's the light," said Pat. "May I get yoa. some sherry?" "Here comes Parker. He'll do ifc"

Parker advanced majestically, bearing' a huge, floralbox tied with pink and silver ribbons. He placed it uponthe table and involuntarily all three women leaned forwardto examine, through the cellophane lid, the wonderful massof opening rosebuds. There were at least sixty blooms,ranging from the sullen red of the heart's blood throughflame and flamingo to a pale flesh pink.

"Dear me," said Aunt Alison. "They must have cost afortune."

And somehow Simon was there, looking down upon theglorious boxed array with an aloof and cynical smile."Someone's sending cottons to Manchester. Whose are

they?" "They've just been delivered from the station, "stated

Parker. "They arrived by passenger train for Miss Gordon."He bowed to Mrs. Cunliffe. "Shall I bring sherry, madam?"

"Yes, please, and whisky for Mr. Leigh ... and'we musthave a large bowl for these flowers."

Pat's hand was upon the box, fanned protectively abovethe card which was attached to one of the stems. Simonwould have to stroll in at this juncture, but deep down shedidn't really care. Let him see for himself that she hadadmirers; it all helped to keep relationships cool and

sane. \ I With a show of nonchalance she untied the ribbons,

pressed a fingernail dov/n one edge of the lid and stripped back' the cellophane; gently, she lifted the roses. The cardcould not have been fastened securely, for it slid sideways on to the table. Without haste, Simon picked it up and read

the few words aloud. " 'I'm missing you, darling. All my love, Roy.'" He

made a tat-tutting sound. "How very youthful and un- restrained in these days of cellophane."

"It was only meant for Patricia, Simon," said his aunt reprovingly.

He flipped the card among the blossoms in Pat's arms. "Sleep with it beneath your pillow, child, and the dreams of diampagne and night dubs." His mouth was unpleasantly thin as he added, "It'll make a change from dreaming of ingenuous brown eyes -and spatalate fingers wielding a ——..—-— 90 •

Marion stared at him, her bnws high. "What are yougetting at?"

Pat would have contrived a bright laugh and a divertingremark had she not noticed, in that instant, that Simon'sdgarette-case no longer lay beside the lamp on the table,where she had placed it. He must have swiftly and un-obtrusively transferred it to his pocket. She burned withunreasoning anger.

He dragged her affairs unmerdfully into the light buthis own private life was sacred, not to be thought aboutin the same breath. He sneered at Roy Brandon who was,after all, just a pleasant young man addicted to the extrava-gant phrase, and he mocked because Hugh Dyson foundher compatible. As she staffed the cellophane into theflower box her hands were unsteady.

"Simon's alluding to the art master at the school," shesaid. "He's afraid I may get married before he leavesas in September. He can't bear to see other people happy."

By the strange, electric quality in the pause whichfollowed. Pat knew she had expressed the forbidden. Onethought such, things but didn't say them. She had a wildimpulse to fling the roses at their feet and fly across diehall and upstairs, but the habit of politeness kept her there,standing at the table which was set between Marion andMrs. Cunliffe. She knew that Simon, also standing andnot a yard away, was eyeing her narrowly and critically.

"There are some," he said, "who'll accept half a loaflather than have no bread. But half a loaf gets used upand you have to fall back on something less substantial.Far better to have done without it from the beginning."

"I don't entirely agree." Aunt Alison had made a light-ning recovery and was eager, as always, for a part in whatpromised to be a lively discussion. "If you're talking ofmarriage, I'd say that so long as a woman is loved theanion has a chance of success. If she's loyal, her loving theman back is not important. Between any couple who liveand strive together an intimacy of action and thought isbound to grow. It's happening all the time, Simon."

"How long does it take?" he queried with a sarcasmwhich was unusual in his tone to his aunt. 'Till one's sunkin middle age?"

"It wouldn't suit you, I know. I was regarding it from the woman's angle. Being loved completely and for herself' is about all a woman asks of marriage."

"You're back in the last century, my dear aunt. In those days passionate feelings in a woman were considered indelicate; she only submitted. Marriage today doesn't work on those lines. A woman has to put into it as much emotion as her husband does, and if she cares less for him than he cares for her, the marriage disintegrates."

"You make present-day marriage sound horribly raw," "Nature without a doak is raw; so is an unhappy

marriage." A thorn pierced Pat's finger, and she discovered she was

gripping the rose stems with unnecessary force. What had he in mind — the marriage of Elise and Max Bristow? Was that what lay behind yesterday's visit to Dolbridge — a need to see for himself just what was happening between those two? To Simon it would have been obvious that his golden woman was no match for the tough Max.

Only half an hour ago Marion had asserted that Simon would not marry Elise if she were free, that he would never again feel he could trust her. But Elise was beautiful and her charms were those of a hesitant, highly-bred kitten that badly needs to be cherished and loved. It might happen that in one direction Simon wasn't invulnerable.

Parker had brought the drinks and Simon was pouring. A wide bowl half-full of water had been placed on the table, and Pat began to arrange the flowers. Perhaps be- cause Simon hnd sounded cantankerous. Aunt Alison had shelved the topic of woman's part in marriage, and she was now quietly inquisitive about what he had been doing all day. For ten minutes Marion had been singularly wordless, her troubled glance upon Pat.

"I'll go up and change," said Simon, when he had drained his glass. "I hope you've arranged an early dinneCo I've some work to do."

"Work?" echoed Mrs. Cunliffe. "I have to keep in touch with tfae office." He looked at

Pat. "How's the report going?" "It's finished. I've put both copies on the desk in your

room. I thought you'd rathee haws_it there than in the library."

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"So I would. Thaafcs a lot. I think HI take & up toLondon myself and do several other bits of business at thesame time. I'll go on Friday."

"For how long?" asked Marion quickly, "Three or four nights." "You might take Pat. She could stay at an hotel and do

some shopping for us." "It isn't necessary for her to go," he said offhandedly.

"Let me know what you want and if ifs not too feminineI'll get it for you."

"Pat does need a change." "London wouldn't be a change," he said briefly. He went over to the staircase and disappeared upwards,

leaving behind a curious blend of discord and relief. Aunt Alison said pensively, "I wonder if Simon would

consider size six in sensible black leather slippers toofeminine? I'd like to buy Charlotte a pair for her birthdayand she'd be so pleased to know they came from London."

Simon departed that Friday without fuss. He would beback on Wednesday, and promised to ring Craigwood justbefore setting out on the return journey.

Pat watched the big car glide round the drive and vanishtowards the gates. Her heart sank at seeing him go, buthe took with him some of her pain and uncertainty. Craig.wood was still here, changeless, venerable and compas-sionate in spirit. The trees had their summer burdens,fruit ripened and bees sipped pollen from the flowers.

The weather had warmed, and delidous, scented breezesentered the rooms, accentuating both her loneliness and thesense of peace now that she had respite from the beloved,torturing presence of Simon.

Yes, she did need a change, and Simon was right; &few days in London would not have been much help, par-ticularly with him near. Most of all she would have likeda quiet week or two with her father in a bungalow nearthe sea. Possibly that was why she reminded Marion ofa promise she had made to arrange a day out.

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The coast at Marlsea had none of the dark cragginesswhich is typical of Cornwall, nor were the headlands soarresting as those'a little farther along the Devon shore.But the bay was pretty and sheltered from the wind, andon a hot day one could bathe and lounge and eat from apicnic basket in heavenly comfort.

Marion had made up a party of twelve that Saturday,and Pat was partnered by Graham Belton, who was schol-arly and no trouble at all. He regarded his twin sisters'antics indulgently, and confided to Pat what a blessing itwas that the brains of the family were vested in himself; aman had to make his way in the world, but the twinswould undoubtedly marry. In common with his type hecould not see that intelligence in a wife was particularlynecessary. Pat began an argument on the subject but soongave it up; the weather was too warm and this blessedinterlude of peace too valuable to be squandered in profit-less debate.

Much of the general talk was of the Summer Fair. Itwould be the first held for many years, and for some rea-son the promoters had decided to expand its scope. Besidesthe usual cattle show and entertainment booths,? therewould be a day of sports, and it was hoped that Sheridan'sThe Critic, which the Manbury School boys were rehears-ing as an end-of-term production, would be staged oneafternoon for outsiders in the school grounds.

It was partly due to the prevailing enthusiasm for a big-ger and better Manbury Fair that Pat drove away fromMarlsea that evening, not in the Beltoos' car as she hadcome, but in the rakish vehicle belonging to Honour Will-ings. As well as the hankering to become a member of themedical profession. Honour had a passion for breedingdogs. At her parents' large country house she reared Labra-dors and Boxers, and she was keen for a dog show to beincorporated into the Fair.

Pat had put questions about the dogs, and Honour's tons'Eton was immediate and enthusiastic.

"Haven't you ever kept a Labrador or a Boxer? They're.marvellous, and so simple to train. You must come overand see mine." A moment's pause, and then, eagerly, "Whyaot come home with me mis evening? It keeps light so

late that you'll be able to see everything. We have a fewhorses, too."

Pat had agreed at once. She liked Honour's sensible goodlooks and her roggedness, and she respected her ambition.So when the rugs and baskets had been gathered up andthe first car moved away from the shadowed beach, shecalled an explanation to Marion and got into Honour'slittle contraption.

As they wound up from the coast through the woodedhills the air was coof and refreshing. The sun, gold-dustingthe treetops, was beginning its gradual relinquishment ofthe earth, and high white scarves of fleecy doud wereacquiring pink edges and presaging another fine daytomorrow.

Honour allowed the other cars to pass her. "I can neverhurry at this time of the day," she said. "There's so muchto see. You don't mind dawdling?"

"No» I love this road. As a schoolgirl I used to cydeifc"

"Odd that we should have grown up within half adozen miles of each other, yet never have met till this sum-mer," said the other girl musingly.

"Not so very odd," replied Pat. "You were always atboarding school a great deal of the time, and we alwayslived quietly, dose to the sdiool." She might have added,"And socially, we Gordons were a rung or two below theLeighs, the Willingses and the Beltons," but such a remarkwould have hurt Honour, who was no snob.

Presently the car took a left tarn into a narrow lane•whidi curved away between crab-apples and hawthorns andfinally ended at a five-barred gate which, it seemed, waspermanently propped open. From there on the path wasnarrower and had a gravel surface right up to the frontentrance of the Willings' home.

It was not an imposing structure, but like most of thelarger houses in the district it appeared to have growninto its fields and trees, never to be uprooted. The onlyperson in sight was a very old man who cared for thecattle and horses. There were several dogs, of course, fromthe square-nosed terriers to a stately St. Bernard, and theyjumped and barked around Honour with concentratedecstasy at her return after a whole day's absence.

She laughed tolerantly. "Why do dogs always lovehuman beings so much more than their own kind? Whaton earth am I going to do with this bunch when I go upto the university?"

"Won't your mother look after them?" "She used to, but in the year I've been living at home

their number has trebled, and the kennels are too far forher in bad weather. I suppose I shall have to sell some andgive the rest away."

She shrugged philosophically and led the way across agarden made ramshackle by the pets and into a pasture, atthe far end of which, in a huge wired enclosure, stood thetwo rows of kennels which housed the pedigreed Labra-dors and Boxers. Pat made friends with a comical-lookingBoxer puppy, but she preferred the noisy house terriers thatyapped their disdain of the aristocratic show dogs throughthe wire.

The racket was so deafening that she had come out ofthe enclosure and shut the high gate before realizing thatHonour was not alone; she was talking to a man. He wasabove average height but did not appear tall because of theextraordinary width and thickness of his shoulders in hisriding jacket. A bulky man with heavy features and ratherdose-cropped fawn hair.

She hesitated, unwilling to break in, but Honour turnedand saw her. l

"Pat, come and meet Max Bristow." When Tat hadmoved forward and managed a startled smile, she added,"This is Pat Gordon, Max. She lives with the Leighs."

With a trace,of awkwardness he indined his head. "I'mhappy to know you," he said. And to Honour, "If yourparents are away for the week-end I'll leave it over tillTuesday. Tell your father I really want the filly and won'tquibble over the price."

While he gave a few more details Pat watched him. Sothis was the husband of Elise, this man who was at easewhile he spoke of horses but slightly constrained over thesocial graces. She guessed that there was little difference be-tween his age and Simon's, but that intellectually they wereworlds apart. Previously, in those far-off days before shehad become Marion's secretary. Pat had known Max Bris-tow only by sight and by his reputation as an excellent

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horseman and farmer. Since meeting Elise her conception of him had had an element of the florid—an impression which she saw now was utterly false.

There was nothing m the least overbearing about this man. As the three of them crossed the field with the dogs leaping about them he listened to Honour's description of an illness of one of the creatures, and sympathetically offered advice should the symptoms recur. When they stop- ped on the drive his hand unconsciously scratched at the ear of the sidling St. Bernard.

Honour smiled. "That hound adores you. Max. He won't let even my father do that, yet when you do it he looks positively fatuous."

He grinned down at the dog—quite a nice grin, thought Pat.

"By the way," Honour irrelevantly tacked on," has Elise dedded to brave next winter at Dolbridge?"

Pat tensed, waiting for his answer. Something flickered^wifely across his face, leaving it with no more expressioothan before.

"If s too early to make plans for ihe winter. The doctorsays she's stronger, though." •" "I'm glad. Let's hope she'll stay till Christmas, anyway."8

For a minute Pat had the feeling that she was in theway, that there was a bond between these two which madeher own presence superfluous. Yet it was not a bond oftouch or even of the understanding smile. It was as thoughtwo similar people had the same ideas on things, the sameviewpoint, which made conversation almost unnecessary.Neither would have been blissfully happy married to theother, but they would not have hurt each other becausethey were so alike. In any case, such a couple could notfall in love; in a life companion each needed the sharper,sweeter element which is part of an opposing character.

To Max Bristow, Honour was probably "good oldHonour," who was staunch and of the earth, and whotalked his language. And Honour's regard for him was nodoubt of the same quality, except that it also held pity fora man who loved the wrong woman.

They were making for the long, dusty cat which haddmwn up just behind Honour's two-seater.

"I called in on my way to Manbury," he said. "I haveto see some people there."

Honour tapped Pat's wrist. "Are you determined not tostay and have dinner with me?"

"I'm sorry, Honour. Mrs. Leigh has guests and she mayneed me."

"Then perhaps you'd like to go with Max. You wouldn'tmind dropping Pat at Craigwood, would you. Max?"

"Not at all. Silly for you to make the trip when I haveto."

Good-byes were said and the car moved off. Pat sat besideMax Bristow, watching his unhurried movements and thelarge slack hands upon the wheel. Involuntarily, she com-pared his placid driving with the expert speed of Simon's,his thick, muscular fingers with those strong yet fleshlessones; one might as well compare lead with dynamite.Probably Elise had come to the same conclusion.

Yet this man's love for his wife had no shred of incon-gruity. A woman beloved by him would have the securityof a sun-v/armed wall at her back; a great, if inarticulatedevotion. He must be fairly rich, for Marion said thatElise had been penniless when she married him. Then why,with both love and money at her command, was Elise dis-satisfied with her husband ? She had chosen him freely, andthere was nothing to prove that she regretted not havingmarried Simon.

Conventionally, Max enquired whether Pat liked Man-bury, expressed surprise upon hearing that she had beenborn there and interest in the fact that she worked as sec-retary for Mrs. Leigh.

In carefully blank tones, he said, "I daresay you met mywife at the party given by the Leighs while I was away?" , "Yes, I did, though I'd heard about her before, ofcourse." ' :'

Pat had meant this only as polite conversation, but themoment the remark was out she was aware of the construc-tion he might put upon it—the construction he had putupon it. His mouth, fullish in the lower lip, drew in .andhe let several hundred yards pass under the wheels beforespeaking again. Pat, furious with herself, could think, offflothing helpful to fill the gap.

"Simon Leigh is in London, isn't he?" he asked at last.

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She nodded. "For a few days." "And he leaves England at the end of September. It

beats me how any man can tarn his back so carelessly upona place like Craigwood. The country needs men of Simon'scalibre at home."

She wondered if it were a streak of Justice in him thatmade him state such an opinion, or whether he were ignor-ant of the reviving sparks between Elsie and Simon. Itwas quite painful to think of the hurt in his private life.

"I suppose the country also. needs such men abroad, orhe wouldn't be sent. He'd rather go than stay here."

"The trend things are taking," he said, with just a traceof moodiness, "it looks as though in a few years most ofthe houses round here will have passed from the old peo-ple. There's Belton, whose son has no interest at all in theland, and Willings, who has only Honour—and she'sanxious to become a medical worker among the poor.Craigwood is the biggest and best. . ."

His voice faded, and Pat knew that his mind had veeredtowards Dolbridge and his own lack of children. It piercedher like a sword that the existence of the suffocatinglysweet and cosy Elise could cheat posterity of two old andhonorable families, with her hands dendied tightly in herlap.

When Max again ventured a comment it was of theinnocuous type which could be enlarged upon till theyreached the gates of Craigwood.

Pat thanked him for the lift, and as she walked up thedrive she pondered fruitlessly upon Max Bristow, whoseemed to have no antipathy for Simon Leigh, and uponElise, that problematical woman who had been loved bytwo men without yielding to either a fraction of her inmostself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SUNDAY was quiet and Pat spent all her leisure hoursyi the gardens at Craigwood and with her father and Hughat the cottage. Tuesday, Hugh told her, was his slackestday in the school week; he was free from twelve onwards.How about that visit to Exeter? He had the promise of aear and the weather did look settled.

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Mr. Gordon put in an unexpected word. "Go with him,Pat. You haven't seen inside the cathedral since yourschooldays, when I used to take you to Exeter to watch theships on the canal."

"And we might go oa to Exmouth," Hugh submittedpersuasively.

There was really no reason why Pat should not spendTuesday with him, and there were one or two things shewanted to buy. So she agreed to be at her father's houseby noon on Tuesday.

Marion, when the matter was put to her at dinner &atnight, approved the plan. "I quite liked Mr. Dyson thatday he came with the boys, and it's good for one's ego tobe often in the company of an admirer."

"Not quite so good for the ego of the admirer," inser-ted Aunt Alison, who could never resist stating an opin-ion, "unless he's sure of the success of his quest Howfond of him are you, Patrida?"

"We're only friends." "Does he want to paint you?'" "He's mentioned it." "Ah! Then if you can't be more than friendly with him

let him go ahead with the painting. Let him pour what he feels for you on to canvas. I was once told by the wife of a famous artist that she would never consent to be painted by her husband because she had noticed that as soon as he finished a portrait he lost interest in the sitter. That's prob- ably true of lesser artists, too."

"But it's not foolproof," said Marion. "It's human nature to go on craving for the things one hasn't had, eveis when their savour has diminished."

"My dear," replied the old lady as she briskly attacekd the ruins of a castle pudding, "you're in a groove. We're three women here without relief. Simon isn't relief—he draws the tension tighter. Why don't we have some house guests? What about all those people you know in London, the young man who spent so much on those roses for Patricia? Let's have them down, Marion, and brighten up ourselves and the house as well!"

"I wouldn't care to invite Roy Brandon," Pat said

"Because of Simon?" demanded Marion Just as quickly."Don't you write to Ray?"

"I thanked him for the flowers, but we don't corres-pond. He wouldn't fit in at Craigwood, and he'd hate to beregarded as less important than other guests. You knowthe Brandons."

"But he wouldn't be," declared Aunt Alison. "Pat means because she's my secretary," said Marion

quietly. "She has such a stubborn pride that I've neveryet found the courage to insist that she call me by my firstname, and behave as though she belongs here."

"Then I'll do the insisting," stated Mrs. Cunliffe indomit-ably. "And from now on I'm Aunt Alison, Patricia, whe-ther you like it or not. Now about these house guests. . . ."

"It's useless arranging anything before Simon comesback. He has to agree to whatever we decide." Marionpushed aside her fruit plate, told Parker to serve coffee inthe drawing-room and placed her hands upon the edge ofthe table, preparatory to standing. "You go to Exeter onTuesday, Pat, and make up your mind to have fun. IfHugh Dyson asks you to marry him don't say no till you'vethought it over very seriously." Her smile lacked spon-taneity as she finished, "Remember Aunt Ailson's lecturethe other day: it isn't so necessary for a woman to be inlove as to be loved."

Pat knew that Marion believed, as Simon did, that sucha view of marriage might have stood the test half a cen-tury ago when women had no independence, but that todaya woman did not meekly surrender herself out of meregratitude. She couldn't imagine why Marion should echoAunt Alison's sentiment, unless . . .

Her heart turned and her skin went cold. Could Marionpossibly have guessed at her love for Simon? Was sheextending a warning, throwing out light advice on thesanest course when one's case was hopeless? Surely not! Shehad been so careful not to give herself away, and besides,the turbulent emotion she felt for Simon was too new to bepatent to anyone else. Why, she was still breathless andterrified herself at the very thought of her heart being inSimon's negligent keeping. Marion must have been jesting,rather bitterly, perhaps, for just recently the humorousmood had evaded her.

no

Pat's breathing evened out and she quelled an unhappysigh. Never before at Manbury had she felt so benighted.

It was in a steadier frame of mind that she sat besideHugh Dyson in the maths, master's modest car the follow-ing Tuesday. Big douds hung over the countryside butit was not cold, nor had the atmosphere the ominous feelof rain. The trees were still, the green wheat leaned theway the last wind had blown it, and the dover was whiteand scented, ready for reaping.

The village gardens were packed with hollyhocks, mari-golds and snapdragons, and foxgloves stood tall in hedgeswhere wild strawberries ripened. Low walls dripped withcatmint, high ones were smothered in japonica, and theindefatigable stonecrop patched the thatched roofs with itsyellow stars; from high up in a cracked cottage wall droop-ed a duster of red daisies.

"Have you ever painted the country scene, Hugh?" sheasked 'him, as they bumped over a hump-backed bridge.

"I did my share of it a few years ago. I think I triedeverything before admitting the grisly truth."

"There's nothing grisly about teaching art." "I know that now," He flung her a smile. "But when

you're a bit of an idealist you have a horror of letting your-self down. It's mudi easier to live with your conscienceonce you've got the hang of your limitations. Believe me,I know!"

"I think it's more praiseworthy to help the next genera-tion to appredate the technical and aesthetic qualities of artthan to go on striving for a perfection in your pwn workthat you haven't much chance of attaining. After all, thereally great people are so few that only those with definitesigns of genius can hope to enrich the arts. Implanting alove of beauty is a big and wonderful job. You shouldbe proud."

"I've never known a girl like you. Pat—you make a chapfeel he could move mountains. Some women are so hardthey make you wince."

"You must have been unfortunate." "Not now . . . not any more. You're far and away She

sweetest person I've ever met." "You'll have to get about more." Adroitly she managed

8 twist of the conversation. "It's only three weeks to your

holiday, isn't it? For a whole month you'll be wanderingamong mountains and lakes, and when you come back thetrees will be turning russet and there'll be blackberry piesand mushrooms. You'll have still another two weeks' free-dom before the sdiool reopens. What will you do withthem?"

"I don't know. Some time I must visit my old uncle inLondon, but I'd rather stay here. I'm tossing up whetherto invest in a little bus like this one. What do you thinkof it?"

The topic served for the rest of the way to Exeter. Thecar was parked, they lunched in the dining-room of an hoteland came out to wander the old, crowded streets and spenda couple of hours at the cathedral. Hugh sat cross-leggedon the grass and sketched one of the Norman towers andpart of the statue-covered west front. He was absorbed andcontented, and when he 'had finished he handed the sketch-book to Pat.

She admired the two drawings, flicked back the pagesand saw the familiar walls of Manbury School, a huddleof cottages in a billow of trees, and a wickedly lifelikesketch of the cadaverous Mr. Rathern.

"I hope you keep this book locked up," she said. "Ifthe boys saw the picture of Ratty they'd treat you as oneof themselves."

"They do already. I oughtn't to have made that one ofRathern, but he has such marvellous hollows and lines."He ripped out the page, crumpled it and staffed into hispocket. "I won't risk injuring the old boy. Shall we go onto Exmouth for a cup of tea?"

Hugh was quietly exuberant with happiness. He lookedat Pat, and to him everything, from her wavy, tawny hairto the slim, sandalled feet was perfect. He risked takinghis eyes from the road in order to delight in her contourand the utterly graceful curve of her neck, and with adrowning sort of bliss he thought of her hands holdinghis face, her fiingers cool upon his brow. In spite of know-ing his limitations, Hugh was still something of an ideal-ist; he was also possessed of a large degree of optimism.

Exmouth was full of holiday-makers, but after tea Hughfound a green hill abo-^e the sea and, inevitably, out againcame the sketch book. Pat was the subject this time, curls

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blowing gently in the evening breeze against the sky, hermouth sweet and drowsy, for she was tired. It was an excel-lent likeness and faintly flattering. Side by side they exam-ined it in the golden light.

Regretfully Pat shook her head. "It's lovely, but I'm sotlike that."

"To me you are," he said softly. "That's exactly how Isee you."

"Then you don't see me as I am. This girl in pendlcould never suffer from any of the baser emotions like .. olike anger or jealousy."

"Do you mean that you do?" "I'm human." He laughed a little. "I'm glad to hear it. Maybe one

of these days I'll see you jealous, and I'll draw you againin the light of new knowledge. I hope I shall be at theroot of the jealousy."

Pat was silent. This was her cue, her opening for s.declaration that they would never be more than friends. Butthe day had been one of tranquility and comradeship, andshe couldn't bear, just now, to see pain come into thosebright, boyish brown eyes. There ought to be somethingshe could say, though, some casual remark which wouldshow him the inadvisability of taking too much for granted.

The next moment it was too late. Shyly, his hand slidacross her back and held her shoulder and his mouthpressed warmly at her temple. Then he drew a queer,choked breath and got quickly to 'his feet.

"It's getting late. Pat. We'll have to go." Neither spoke mudi during the drive back. to Manbury.

Shadows lengthened and the sun was gone, but the longtwilight lasted till they had dimbed the steep road fromthe village to Craigwood. He slowed at the gates andturned as if to run up the drive.

"No, I'll walk it," she said hastily. 'Td rather. Please,Hugh!"

Obediently, he stopped. Not looking up he detachedthe sketch he had made of her from the book and slippedit between a folded newspaper which had lain betweenthem. His tone was slightly stilted. I

"I want you to have this. Pat." He made a small soundwhich was supposed to denote amusement but somehow

missed the mark. "That's another picture it wouldn't do fosthe boys to ogle."

"Thanks." She held the paper under her arm, and herother hand was on the door handle. "It's been a gloriousday, Hugh."

"Yes. It has been . . . nice." As she made to pressdown the^ handle he went on stumblingly, "Pat, there'ssomething I have to say. It's difficult, because I'm a com-plete novice at this kind of thing. No—please don't inter-rupt. And don't give me an answer now. Let me get thissaid, and . . . and we'll discuss it some other time." He hadto pause, but the sight of him, clenching on to the wheeland staring palely through the windscreen at the duskyroad, kept Pat nerveless.

"The fact is, I'm in love with you—I have been eversince we first met—and I want to marry you. I know I'vespoken of this too soon—too soon for you, that is—andthat I'm doing it hurriedly and without grace—just as I doeverything else, except my job. But I had to do it now be-cause . . . well, there's the holiday with your father . . .and other things. Please understand, Pat. I've been over itwith myself many times. I'm not fit to black your shoes;I'm dumsy and forgetful, and I daresay I'll never rise aboveteaching art. But I do love you, Pat, and I can offer youa home at Manbury." Breathless, he leaned over with ajerky movement and thrust open her door. "I meant to putit so much better, but I'm depending on your understand-ing. Shall I see you at the week-end ?"

"Yes," she managed, and got out on to the path beforehe could help her. "Hugh, I don't know what to say . . ."

"Don't say anything. Just think about it." He avoidedher eyes. "Good night, Pat."

"Good night." Dazedly, she almost ran along the drive and out of his

sight. For a few minutes he sat on, oddly weak in hislimbs. It was done. He saw one of those three-room bun-galows and Pat in a frilly frock sitting in the garden withher needlework or a book; he saw her deftly mixing cakeswith the sun dappling her arms through a muslin-curtainedwindow, and he saw the straight little nose not far belowhis own as she adjusted his tie. She came to him in a seriesof pictures; adorable Pat, who would be there for his pleas-

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we and his loving. Lethargically, as if he were spent, he atlast reversed the car and took the road to the school.

In the brightly-lit porch of the house Pat had to stopand regain her breath. Her lungs were tight and her kneeswobbly, and it seemed that her face must show her distress.What an idiot she had been to sit there and let Hugh goon and on. Why couldn't she have insisted on his hearingher decision at once? It would be no different next Sunday,and this way she had the rest of the week to live through,knowing she must inflict hurt. How unreasonable menwere, how dogmatic even the most amenable of them!

Her annoyance cooled. Poor Hugh. He had been so grandtoday, so careful not to mar the joy of the outing by plead-ing for more than she could give. Even his kiss had beendiaste and apologetic, and it had not occurred to him tofollow it up with a doser embrace. His youthful restraintwas a great deal to be grateful for.

Pat pushed wide the door and entered the hall. It wasdeserted, but the big lamp glowed upon the main tableand diairs were drawn up around a low table which heldglasses and cocktail shaker. The fire had not long been lit,for flames licked up from the kindling about unblackenedlogs.

Pat lodged her bag upon die big table and knelt beforethe blaze with her hands outstretdied. The leaping lightplayed over her creased brow and tightly-dosed mouth,tamed her hair to bronze. She heard a step and lookedup, and all the anxiety in her melted into a swift uprushof happiness.

"Simon," she whispered. "Simon it is," he whispered back mockingly. "What's

§Q secret about it, and why weren't you here to greet me?" Slowly she straightened. "I've been out most of the day.

When did you arrive?" "About an hour ago." "You promised to telephone from London." "I did telephone, at lunch-time." He, looked into her

face, studying her. "I do believe you're glad to see meagain."

"I believe I am," she said, scarcely able to credit thatshe and Simon were speaking intimately and softly andwithout enmity. "Extraordinary, isn't it?"

"Fantastic. I'm not sorry to be here, either. What do yonmake of that?"

She gave a short, excited laugh. "We're not real. It'sthe firelight and the dimness."

"We're real enough." His grip on her arm to prove itmade her wince, but she wanted him to go on gripping,and hurting. "By the way, your typed report was well re-^ceived in London."

The spell began to break; i"Was it?" she said, movinga few inches away from him. "Did they ask you to go outthere again?"

"I'm not going that way next time." A pause. "I didn'tthank you properly for the work you did for me."

"I did it in Mrs. Leigh's time." The intimacy was shat-tered. The angles of his lean dark face were familiar butsomehow remote. "How is London looking?"

"Like London in July," he answered carelessly.' "RalphSedgwick is here. He came down with me."

"Oh. Your aunt and Marion will be pleased. They werehoping to persuade you to invite some house guests."

"Ralph's all right, but I don't fancy others about theplace." Another slightly tingling pause. "I brought you agift from London. To avoid a fuss about it I've put it inyour room." '

Pat emitted a second, "Oh." Perhaps it was the sharpdisappointment at the change in his manner whichprompted 'her to add, "I didn't need anything in return forthe typing."

"You're not getting anything in return for the typing,"he said savagely, without moving. "Would it be too muchfor you to credit me with a normal, masculine motive?"

Despairingly, she heard voices on the staircase. Therecame a snapping of switches and other lights blossomed,searching into all the corners of the hall. The doublelounge doors were wide and the lights were on in there, too.Because Simon was back the house had come alive; the factthat he had brought a guest increased the vibrant qualityin the atmosphere.

The three came across the hall together, Ralph, distin-guished and erect, between Mrs. Cunliffe, and a smilingMarion. He bowed to Pat.

"Hallo, Patrida. I've brought you half a dozen newgramophone records—some ballet and Continental dances.Simon agreed that my age entitles me to bestow such thingson the youngest member of the house."

"You're very kind," she said. "We might try them later."' "Have you only just come in. Pat?" asked Marion. "I got in a few minutes ago. I should have gone up &t

once to change but I didn't know Simon and Admiral Sedg-wick were here, so I lingered near the fire. It's gone cooltonight."

"Dinner's going to be rather late—we put it off for themen. Stay and have a drink. What sort of day did youhave?"

"Quite good. We went as far as Exmouth. Simon was serving the cocktails. Pat found one placed m

her hand, heard him say, "Who took you to Exmouth?" Marion answered. "Hugh Dyson—you know, the school"

master. Is he good fun. Pat?" Pat didn't quite know what to make of Marion. Her

spirits seemed to have soared, became almost mischievous;she might have been relieved at Simon's retaring a daybefore he was expected, and pleased that Ralph Sedgwickwas to be of their number.

"Was he good fun?" murmued Mrs. Cunliffe, sippingluxuriously at her cocktail.

With a suggestion of defiance. Pat said, "Yes, he was.The hours just flew."

The two older women were seated, the two men and Patdrank standing. Simon put down his glass and slantedhis head to read the headlines on the folded newspaperwhidi lay beside Pat's bag on the table. Indolently, hepicked up the paper and shook it open. The sheet of draw-ing-paper sailed down gently to rest upon the toe of hisshoe.

Pat's impulse was to dart forward and scoop it up, butbefore she could take a single step Simon had retrieved thedrawing and tamed it the right way round, to examine it.

Watching the faint curl at his lips. Pat felt her wholebeing contract and a flare of hate for him in her heart,

Marion leant forward, curiously. "What is it?" "A pencil portrait of a pretty girl," explained Simon

kindly.

"Why, it's Pat.' My dear, your Hugh is really clever. Did he draw this today ?"

Pat had to stand there and endure it all—Mrs. Cunliffe'swarm appreciation of Hugh's talents, Marion's lively inter-est, the friendly, comprehending smile of Ralph Sedgwick,and Simon's cool sarcasm. She collected the white bag and took the sketch from brown fingers.

"I must go now. I'll try to be quick." "Just a second, Pat." Marion held up a beautifully-kept

hand. "Remember our talk on Sunday?" Pat looked at them all; three of them amicably treating

her as if she were a niece for whom they had a large affec-tion, the fourth withdrawn, his mouth sardonic. How couldshe possibly have been deceived by the earlier softness inhis voice! He was like steel.

She could have responded brightly, "Yes, I remember,'"and fled at once upstairs; or she could merely have laughedas if at a shared private joke.

But Simon, the dear and detested, was equally intecfiupon her reply.

She found herself saying, "Your advice was sensible,Marion. It always is."

"Pat, dear! Did he really propose?" She nodded, but said nothing, i "You didn't accept?" . "Not yet." Suddenly the whole scene was intolerable. Pat shrugged,

intimating that they were now as wise as she was and,with all the self-command at her disposal, she made herway towards the staircase and up to her room.

f CHAPTER TWELVE

RALPH Sedgwick's presence at Craigwood made a subtleyet profound difference in the household. The air becamemellower and less charged; there was more laughter, moreriding and tennis, long walks about the estate and perilousjourneys up the river in a boat gone leaky through disuse.

US

Ralph, looking nautical in navy slacks and sweater, hadthe boat upturned on the river bank and set about caulk-ing the seams. Pat got into slacks, too, and helped him,while their conversation wandered through the channelsof music and books to wind up more aptly with tropicalfish and sea beasts.

One of the benefits to everyone was his complete willing-ness to fall in with their wishes. He seemed to derive asmuch pleasure from a diat with one of the ladies as froma canter with Simon, and he took an immediate and all-embracing interest in the affairs of the estate.

"You've ample ground for more cattle," he told Simooone day at lunch. "With the Fair starting tomorrow youmight pick up something good."

"The bailiff takes care of those things," was the answer."None of fhe land is wasted."

"But meat production is important. Why don't you tellthe chap to switdi over?"

"It wouldn't be fair to butt in and take charge for twoor three months. He knows how mudi he can tackle."

Ralph's very blue eyes smiled^a little ruefully. "I keepforgetting that this is just a holiday residence to you.Doesn't it sting a bit to think of the house standing emptywhen you're gone?"

Two of me women held their breath, but Aunt Alison'sface was alert with enjoyment.

"Self-torment isn't an indulgence of mine," said Simon."At the most I shall be away only a couple of years, andtwo years isn't long in the history of Craigwood."

"Well, that's something," stated Aunt Alison with satis"faction. "You might have told us before." .

"I wasn't sure before," he said calmly. "Women are sodarned impatient."

"You're not too tolerant yourself," she reminded him.""You'll be thirty-seven when you do settle."

"So I will," he agreed cynically, "and I'll probably beimpossible to live with. When Pat first saw me she thoughtI was thirty-eight."

Shrewdly, Marion queried, "Did it rankle?" "I didn't care for it at the time, but I feel somewhat

easier since discovering that however skilled she may be incertain directions, Patrida's sense of judgment is extremely

youthful. No offence, my child," he added patronizingly."I envy your outlook. If I had it I'd be walking up the aisleany day now with one of the effervescent Belton twins."

This drew amusement, for even Marion appreciated howcrazy had been one of her previous hopes for Simon. Ralph'had met the Belton twins and expressed a bewilderedamazement that two such lovely creatures could eat, breatheand .dance divinely with so little brain between them. '

His love of people made him keenly intent to know allthe neighbors, and when he entered one of the villageshops for tobacco or razor blades he was never in a hurryto leave it. 'Within a few days of arriving at Craigwoodhe. knew almost as much about the villagers as Fat did, andhis persuasive interest wrested from them all sorts of confi-dences. The "naval gentleman up at the House" was fastbecoming an institution at Manbury.

The Fair was officially opened at ten o'clock on thatgusty Saturday morning. Gravely, one set of judges prod-ded cows and pigs while a second made a tour of the fmitand vegetable exhibits and a third sampled home-madecakes and preserves, and selected the best from an excel-lent array of arts and crafts. After an interval for lunchcame a gymkhana and the dog show, at both of whichHonour Willings won medals and prizes.

Marion made the presentation and acquitted herselfcharmingly. She, Ralph, Simon and Pat had spent mostof the day at the show grounds; as she expressed it, onehad to be thoroughly countrified to extract .continuous joyfrom milch cows and geldings. They got back to Craig-wood securely confident that they had clone their best toboost the Fair but happy in the knowledge that they couldlook forward to an unintermpted evening,' in the drawing-room listening to gramophone music or the radio.

The evening was marred for Pat by an inexplicable badhead. There had been little sun and no excitement of thetype whidi might result in a nervous headache; in factshe had been more with Ralph than with anyone else, andthere was nothing about him which might be psychologi-cally disturbing. Pat thought a subconscious dread of to-

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morrow might be responsible, though she had decided to befirm and unequivocal v/ith Hugh Dyson; it would be a pityif their friendship had to end, but rather that than allowhim to go on hoping for the impossible.

It was at nine-thirty, when Aunt Alison suggested bridgeand there was the usual talk about who should be left out,that Pat said she would like to go to her room.

Marion raised her head. "So early?" "If you don't mind. I've one or two things to do before

bed." "Very well, if you must. Good night, my dear." Pat said good night to the others. On the way up the

stairs her head began to throb with agonizing force and regularity, and inside her room she sank back upon the door, feeling dizzy and sick.

There came a. knock. Pat dragged herself away from the door and said, "Come in." She couldn't manage to dis- semble as she stared up into Simon's startled face.

"I knew you weren't well," he said. "What is it?" "Just my head. I ... I can't think why. I don't usually

get headaches." "How long have you had it?" "It started during dinner. Please don't fuss." She dosed

her eyes against a renewed impact of pain. Without speaking he pulled back the bed cover, switched

on the bedside lamp and put out the main brilliant light;slipping an arm about her he helped her to lie down.

"Don't try to move," he said quietly. "I'll get sometablets."

He was back within three minutes and had raised herto swallow aspirin and water. He stayed there on the sideof the, bed with his arm about her and her hair against hischeek while the back of his other hand felt her forehead.

"It's probably a feverish cold. For a minute I forgot thiswas England and had a nasty feeling you'd picked up some-thing worse. We'll give the aspirin time to lessen the headpains and after that you must get into bed."

"I can't lie here like this," she said weakly. "I'll spoilmy frock."

"Hell, what does a frock matter!" He got up and loosened her belt, went out again and

came back with a blanket, probably from his own bed. Pat

did not open her eyes as the blanket was tucked about be£sbut she said,

"They'll be waiting for you to play bridge." "No, I told them I was going for a walk in the garden.

Don't talk. Pat. Give the aspirin a chance." Fleetingly, she was aware of his touch, light and cool

upon her cheeks. She knew, because of the darkness whidtdosed over her lids, that he had moved the lamp to theother side of the room, and oddly, she waited and waitedfor the click which would mean that he had gone out. Be-fore the click eventually came she had been asleep for sometime.

It seemed many hours afterwards that Marion and Ednawere there, helping her off with her dothes and into her pyjamas. Her throat was hot and dosed and there was even some pain in her ears. Marion gave her more tablets, two large ones whidi would not go down. Then Simon appeared from the shadows, his shoulder came behind hers and his hand went round and gripped her upper arm.

"Come on, Pat, you've got to swallow them," he said in those even, expressionless tones. "They won't stick this time."

And, miraculously, they didn't. There was no question of her getting up the following

morning. The doctor diagnosed severe tonsillitis caused by a prevalent germ and prescribed, among other things;, complete rest in bed.

Pat had forgotten Hugh, had even forgotten that it was Sunday when her father would be expecting her to tea, till Edna brought the information that Mr. Gordon had been told she was unwell and was invited for lunch, when h@ would be coming up to see her.

Afterwards, Pat remembered little of that day or the next. She roused whenever Edna entered the room because the girl could not help talking, but the others—her father, Simon and Marion—were singularly quiet.

On Tuesday she sat up and had chicken soup for lunch. The sore adie in her throat had gone but she was apathetic and lifeless, and Edna's gossip grated.

"Such a shame you should be ill this week, Miss Gordon. There's been such doings! There were the sports yesterday and a fine firework show last night. Today they're having

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that play in the school grounds—and a perfect day. for it, too. The family"—meaning, of course, the Leighs—"have had a special invitation to take a party. Seeing that the school closes for the holidays on Thursday we're having a big dinner here tonight—the Headmaster, your father and Mr. Rathern and several others. Parkes says there'll be fourteen for dinner. Tomorrow . .."

"I'm afraid I can't bother about tomorrow till it comes;, Edna."

"I'm sorry. I do run on, don't I? I expect it feels awful to be out of everything, but Mrs. Cunliffe says that's not a scrap important so long as you're improving. Mrs. Leigh has been worried, too, and Mr. Simon shouted at me good and proper for dropping the fire-irons when I cleaned the grates this morning. He must know well enough that you can't hear the downstairs noises up here. He gets real edgy sometimes."

To divert the flow, Pat made an enquiry. "Are you going to the play this afternoon, Edna?"

"It isn't my tarn off, but Mrs. Leigh said that as I've been doing a lot of running up and down the stairs she'd like me to have a treat. Real thoughtful, she is. She gave me a ticket. I don't somehow think the play will be much in my line, though."

"The Critic? It's famous, you know." Edna was willing to be convinced. "I might like it. Par-

ker says it's old-fashioned and comical. It's sure to be jolly with boys taking all the parts. If I do go, Parker himself will have to bring your tea. Mrs. Parker's rheumatism is

', bad again." "Tell Parker I shan't want any tea. I'm going to sleep." The ruse succeeded. Edna took the tray and the house

went quiet. The maid must also have told Marion that Miss Gordon would be sleeping, for no one else entered the bedroom, and presently the faint purr of Simon's car sounded from the front of the house. They were off to the school.

Pat did doze for an hour or so, and after that she watched the rays of the slowly westering son lengthen across the room. She visualized the play on the tree-fringed school lawn, the rows of hard chairs with one line of up- •holstered ones in the front for the Head and the mot®

i

honored members of the audience; her father, as senior master, would be amongst those. The village people would be seated behind, and if the number of chairs permitted, the senior boys would be at the back. The younger boys would sit on the grass and probably have the most fun, because it was the end of term and therefore, to them, their friends burlesquing on the platform would be excnidat- ingly funny.

Pat wished she had the strength to get up and go into the sunlit garden. Loneliness mattered so much less when one was out of doors. She really was lonely, in a deep and desperate way. With the pessimism which invariably fol- lows a feverish condition, she thought over her situation at Craigwood and found it hopeless. When Simon left at the end of September, Mrs. Cunliffe would return to Truro, and she and Marion, presumably, would take up their old way of life in London.

Till a few months ago Marion's sodal welfare work and her own part in it had appeared to Pat as worthwhile. Shewould have laughed at anyone who said she would tire of it or find it insuf&dent. Now, it wearied and fretted her toEicture the winter ahead, colorless and cold in the London

ouse; the skeletons of the limes in the Square, peoplehurrying with turned-up collars to and from the stately,porticoed houses, and her own heart as stony and cheerlessas a November sky.

Manbury was not like that in winter. Gardens had theiryellow jasmine and some people could even cut roses forthe Christmas table. If the flowers should fail there wasalways human warmth in knowing that every neighbor wasone's friend. Best of all, at Manbury lived her father; thecottage with him in it was always home.

She did not hear the car come back, but in a little whileshe did notice movements in the corridor. And soon afterthat Marion looked in.

"Well, Pat, how goes it?" A long stare with her headon one side. "You've had a grim time, but you'll getthrough better than some. We've heard of several cases of(his particular malady."

"I'll be all right now." "I hope so. Simon i§ bringing you some tea.. "Why Simon?"

"Edna's off till six because there's a strenuous eveningahead of her. We're having a few guests."

"I can do without tea." "Simon doesn't think so." An instant's hesitation. "Don'fc

you want to see him?" "I feel low, and he's seen enough of me looking like

this." "Oh, but Simon doesn't mind. It's strange, but since

you've been in bed he's reminded me more and more ofwhat he was like before he went away. He's sort of keyed-up yet tender when anyone he"s fond of is ill.7

Pat's mouth was dry, but she compelled Herself to speakwith an edged flippancy. "Is he fond of me? That's news!"

"Pat, darling—don't." It was both an appeal and an exclamation of understand-

ing and compassion. Pat trembled under the ..blankets andtears stung in her eyes, but before she could fabricate anykind of reply the door opened again and Simon came inwith a tea tray. Marion gave a crooked little smile andwent out.

Simon poured some tea, pushed another tyilow behindher back and gave her the cup. "Did you get a goodsleep?" he asked.

"Not too bad. Even awake I feel half asleep." "It's the drug. There's nothing so quick at killing infec-

tion, but it sometimes takes a few days for the effects towear off. You musn't let it depress you. Are you warmenough?" , •

"Plenty." She tried the tea and was glad that he hadserved it black, with lemon. During the last three days hehad infallibly done the right thing. "Tell me about theplay/-

He smiled, hitched his trousers and sat in the chair nearthe foot of the bed. "It was good—reminded me ofi.myown raw youth. And how those-boys loved doing it."

"Isn't The Critic a satire on sentimentalism? I expectthat's what appealed to you."

"You're not so drowsy as you'd have one believe, Pat-ricia," he said teasingly. "Did you wish you were withus?" ! '

"No, though I'm sorry to have missed it. S suppose thewhole school was exdted?"

"Yes. Even the masters were overflowing with goodhumor. I had the Headmaster on one side of me and yourfather on the other." With an air of abstraction he added,"before they put on the show I had a word with Dyson."

"Did you?" Her manner was as non-committal as his."He and my father are going to hike around the Lake Dis-trict soon."

"So I heard. Dyson was terribly anxious to know howyou were. Perhaps I ought to have told you before thathe's rung up several times. He asked if he could come andsee you, but I put him off. I didn't think you'd want himto see you in a nightie. I'm different."

"Are you?" "Of course. Till you're better I'm only big brothee

Simon. After that.., we'll see." She smiled faintly. "I'll be well enough to go down t®

the cottage next Sunday." "To give Dyson his answer?" ', Momentarily their eyes met. "Yes,"she said, "and please

Simon . .." "All right," he said quickly. TI won't—not till you're

up, anyway>Let's talk about something non-inflammable." She smiled rather less thinly, and slowly drank her tea

while he described what the Manbury School boys had made of Sheridan. After her cup had been replaced on the tray, Simon stood above her with his hands in hispockets and a faintly quizzical pull at his lips. He was nice like this; but for the weight of depression Pat would have wished the illness to last longer, just for the pleasure of

having Simon teasing and tender. "You never did say whether you liked the snakeskio

handbag," he said. "Handbag?" she echoed foolishly, and then pink stained

her cheeks. "The ... the gift you brought, from Londoa?

Simon ... I didn't open it." "What did you do?" he queried with an immediate trace

of frost. "Drop it in the fire?" "You know how it .was that evening," she said, confused

and distressed. "I'd said something unwise and you got angry. Then you were rude about Hugh's drawing of me."

"Drawing of you!" he scoffed contemptuously. "The fellow's never taken a good look at yore. All he's eves

1126

noticed is the way your hair curls and the shape of your face. The outline is probably all that strikes him about any- one. And do you know why? Because he's so full of him- self that he hasn't room for anyone else. I've met his type a thousand times—the lock of hair over the brow, the creased jacket, the resigned acceptance of something less than fame. The most astonishing part about them is their sincerity. That's what got you, isn't it? You feel . . ."

"Simon, you promised!"

He let out a brief, hard laugh. "Sorry. It's only that I'm anxious you should see the light before meeting him again; for the love of Pete don't let him ride you. Relax, my child. I've finished."

She took a thankful breath. "If you'll get the box from the second drawer of the dressing-table, I'll open it now."

He did as she asked, slipped the tape from the box and lifted the lid. Pat took the fat, opulent bag into her hands and turned it about.

"It's beautiful," she said softly. "There's python trim- ming on my navy shoes . . ." She snapped open the clasp, drew from inside the bag a sheaf of exquisite lace hand- kerchiefs. "Simon," she breathed, "I don't know how to thank you."

He grinned slightly. "At any other time I'd say it was worth a kiss. We'll defer thanks till you've more pep, shall we?"

Pat was saved the task of contriving a reply to this by a discreet rap at the door. Parker tamed the handle and spoke from the doorway.

"Pardon me, Mr. Leigh. Mrs. Bristow is asking for you'on the telephone."

Simon'is smile became set. "Is she holding on?" "Yes, sir." "Why didn't you tell her I'd ring back ?" "I suggested it, but she insisted on talking to you at

once. She says it's urgent." Simon' paused for a further second. "I'll go down. You

might take this tray, Parker." He was gone, and Parker was in the room and appar-

ently in no hurry to leave it. He rearranged the teapot and milk jug and kept both hands on the tray as he turned an impersonal glance upon Pat.

"She was crying," he said. "There must be trouble atDolbridge. There's a rumor in the village that she andMr. Bristow are separating."

Pat had slumped palely into her pillows with the blan-feets up to her chin. "People gossip too much. It's probablya perennial rumor because she always spends the winter inFrance."

"She was very agitated." He shook his head. "I expectMr. Leigh will have to go over to Dolbridge. It'll messup the dinner arrangements tonight."

Parker was too well trained to stay long where he wasobviously not wanted. He attributed Pat's utter lack ofresponse to the illness from which she had not fully re-covered, and bore the tray from the room.

For a long white Pat lay with her face towards the win-dow. She saw fleecy dours tipped with flame. It seemedthat Elise was out there in the golden light, Simon's goldenwoman weeping and stretdiing her arms to him. She couldnot think coherently about Mix Bristow's wife and Simon;she only knew that because of them her heart was as deadas a quenched fire.

She twisted in the bed and heard the thud of the snake-skin handbag as it slid to the floor. She hoped Edna wouldcome in and put the thing away. She wanted never to haveto look at it again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BY Friday, Pat was almost back to normal. She had notmuch color or energy, but determination is occasionally anexcellent substitute for stamina, and Pat was determinednot to hark back to anything which would remind her ofSimon's moughtfulness and help while she had been flatia her bed.

Mrs. Cualiffe was delighted with her return among them,and Ralph Sedgwick touched her arm and gave her a warmsmile of welcome.

"We've missed you," he said, "but while you were underthe weather I got the boat rigged with an awning. As soonsa you fed fit enough we'll all go up the riveE."

••iitCi

• "We can go today, if you like," she answered. "There'shardly any wind."

They were all seated on the terrace, facing the trees.Aunt Alison looked out over the garden.

"You're not counting me, I hope. My sailing days endedabout twenty years ago." ;

"I'm not for the river today, either," said Simon. "Ihave to go out.'If you do take Pat, see that she's wellwrapped."

Marion shrugged. "We're not morons, Simon." "I know you're not," he responded levelly. "My remark:

was one of those conventional superfluities." The silence, though short, prickled unpleasantly. Pat

wondered if Marion and Simon had quarrelled while shewas upstairs, and then she decided that it was unlikely.Simon never quarrelled; he had no need to because hecould always hurt more by withdrawing behind a wall of sarcasm. Perhaps that was what had happened; certainly something had. From Edna, Pat had learned that Simonhad come back late from Dolbridge last Tuesday. He hadmade his apologies to the guests and everything had pas- sed off well, but Edna was sure something was wrong.

Aunt Alison made a pointblank enquiry. "Are you going to Dolbridge today, Simon?"

"Yes, I am." "Why," she went on valiantly, "don't you bring Elise?

here? Then you could all picnic somewhere up the river."" "Elise is unwell." "Dear me! Another sore throat?" "No, Aunt Alison," he said crisply. "If you and Marion

are so interested it wouldn't hurt you to go over and see Elise for yourselves. I'm quite willing to drive you there."

Ralph got out his pipe and searched his pocket for his pouch. "The way you spoke then, Simon," he observed peaceably, reminiscently, "reminded me of the time you and I got those Malayan refugees out of Bayeng. Remem- ber how wild you were when the men wolfed the rations before the women and kids had a look in?"

Simon glanced at him without animosity but made no rejoiner. He stood up, said, "I'll see you all later," and strode into the house.

Ralph ended what he had started. "Z don't suppose he's ever told you that tale. He wouldn't, because it's not pretty. He was white-hot but quite controlled. He had the men shut up, then commandeered the food which had been hoarded by all the well-to-do in the district and doled it ©ut to those who'd had none."

"Good gracious," exdaimed Aunt Alison. "I'd no idea men in the intelligence service had to do that sort of thing. Simon's never mentioned it."

"It was merety inddental, but similar hazards are going on all the time."

Marion sighed. "Get your coat. Pat, and we'll push off for an hour in the boat."

Obediently, Pat left them and dimbed to her room. As she pulled on her coat and dropped a dean handkerchief into the pocket, her mind repeated Ralph's bald description. A starving mass of human beings and Simon feeding them and getting them sorted out. How could such a job of work be parallel with his visits to Dolbridge? Ralph must have suggested the comparison for Marion's and Aunt Ali- son's sake. He knew that they would go to any. lengths rather than take up the challenge to make a trip to the Bris- tow house. Yet it would be best for both women if they would. It was always better to face the/enemy.

Slowly, she made her way down to the hall. The maioi door was open and before going out Pat paused there,

yearning to recapture the well-being which this particular scene had previously conjured for her. The gracious sweep of lawn. the chestnuts and more distant cedars, the rhodo» dendrons where the drive curved; and the balm of feeling the haven of the house about her. Craigwood, with its massive rooms and rich panelling, the carved staircase, the priceless pictures, the glittering chandeliers; lovely old furniture, protective walls; above all, fee indestructible spirit of the place.

As she stood she heard voices: Marion's and Ralph's. They must be waiting for her on the white bench in the porch. She would have moved out to join them at once, had she not been arrested by the mention of her ownpoiha<

"There's no laughter in Pat, no defence. If she is fallingin love with Simon she won't be able to avoid getting hurt.She was never like this, Ralph."

"She's been ill. As for her falling in love with Simon—well, if she has, she's old enough to handle it alone. Fromwhat I know of Pat she'll get through it better withoutinterference. If anyone spoke to her about it she'd feelhumiliated. I can't think what's got hold of Simon."

"I can." Marion sounded almost irritable and feline."He pities Elise. She's small and dependent and no doubtquite heart-wrenching when she's unwell. She's bad so much

practice."

"I've never seen her, but she doesn't sound the type tomake any lasting impression upon Simon. He wouldn'tfall for anyone so spiritless."

"But he did," said Marion indisputably. ['Men areattracted to opposites."

"Arc they?" Pi.alph apparently thought this over. "Ishould think there are enough differences "between thesexes without searching around fo'r someone possessing theantithesis of one's own personality. Possibly my notionsare anything but original, but I do feel that there's a heapmore to the man-woman relationship than for the man tobe protective and the woman submissive. The chief reasonI'm unmarried is that I've never met a woman who com-bines the understanding heart with a leaning towards thethings I like." Ralph hemmed a bit, but seemingly thought it safer to leave the subject just there. "Shall we stroll over to the rivier?" he said. "Pat's sure to' be down soon."

Pat joined them before they had gone twenty yards. Shewas buttoned up to the throat and had smudges under her eyes, but she smiled often, and presently, as they drifted between the willows, she was able to enter quite gaily into their discussions. Perhaps her chatter was a shade too animated and it might have been noticeable that the smilewas brittle and never reached her eyes, but her effort at light-heartedness was what all three of them needed. Pat made up her mind there and then to stick to the bright,

I' 131

careless pose, and to avoid deep thinking, even when she•was alone. She also had another idea which might helpquite a bit but that could wait till tomorrow or Sunday.

In fine weather it was the habit at Craigwood to havebreakfast in the morning-room, which looked east and haddouble glass doors into the garden. The doors were pulledwide and the table set in the opening so that fresh air andthe view could be appredated without the discomfort ofdraughts. There was generally enough wind to stir theflowers on the table and cool the coffee or tea rather morequickly than one really liked, but on the breeze came theappetizing smells of hot rolls and frizzling bacon, and thescents of verbena and thyme wafted from the vegetablegarden at the back of the house.

Mrs. Cunliffe always had breakfast in bed, so on thatSunday morning the usual four sat at the table, Marionand Pat at the back fadng the garden, and Ralph andSimon one at each side. Both men looked tanned andhealthy in white sweaters, and Ralph's grizzled hairshowed a tendency, now that he invariably went without ahat, to form itself into curls.

Marion wore a tan linen suit with a white blouse. Herhair, dressed in a less slick style than the one she hadfavored in London, gave youth to her fine features. Yes,she was younger and more placid, thought Pat wonderingly,and she seemed to have lost the business woman's con-ciseness.

Pat herself had put on a pleated blue silk frock and whiteshoes. Dressing, she had pondered more about jher self-imposed burdens than about how she looked. Neverthelessshe had emerged slim and fresh from her bedroom andarrived third in the morning-room. Simon had been last;he had taken a ride before breakfast

Pat ate some grapefruit and a small portion of scrambledegg, and listened to the men's debate upon a local golftournament which had been played off yesterday. The Fairwas over, the school dosed, and Manbury proposed todrowse through the rest of the summer.

Marion said, "We don't have so very many calm Sundays,Couldn't we all go to the beach this morning?"

"I like Marslea," Ralph commented in assent. "One ofthese days I'll buy a house there." i

"Your ambition once included a view of the Channel,"said Simon lazily. "You were keen to watch the big shipsgo by — the next best thing to navigating one yourself."

"Ships are all right when you've nothing else. If it's allthe same to you, I'd sooner live near Manbury. I've madea good many friends here."

"We're flattered, Ralph. Speaking for myself, there'snothing I'd like better. Have you a sea-cook in mind?" "

"I'll find one," he replied confidently. "He'll be the leastof it."

"Well, are we going to Marlsea today?" Marion wantedto know.

"Pat goes down to tea with her father," mentionedSimon.

Pat dropped two lumps of sugar into her coffee and tookan interest in stirring, "As a matter of fact," she saidcasually, "I intend to see my father this morning. I hopeyou've no objection to this, Marion — I'm going to askhim if I can stay with him at the cottage till he leaves forhis holiday. He sets off next Friday week. Mr. Rathemwas to leave yesterday for Scotland, so I can have his room.It won't make any difference to you, will it?"

"Of course not, except that we're selfish enough to preferhaving you here."

Simon placed both elbows on the table and lookedstraight at Pat. "Your father's not expecting you, is he?He hasn't put this up before?"

"He doesn't have to. It's simply that I want to go andhe'll be glad to have me. Marion hasn't any work for mejust now. It struck me as a good plan."

"So it is," said Marion warmly. "I'm sure your fatherwill be delighted, and a break from Craigwood will benefityou, too. We'll look forward to Friday week, and havingyou back."

Pat drank some of the coffee and unnecessarily stirred itagain. She knew she didn't look quite so sick as she feltbecause Marion went on talking lightly and, after a

IM

moment, Simon lay back in his chair and, staring at thetrees, lit a cigarette.

But she couldn't swallow any more of the coffee; itwould have choked her. Of her own accord she was leav-ing Craigwood, deliberately cutting, herself off from Simonfor two whole weeks. And suddenly she was filled with theterrible foreboding that this was the last morning she wouldever spend at Craigwood, the last meal with Simon — thevery last.

Well, it had happened. Craigwood and part of thegrief were behind her, and it had all been accomplishedvery simply and with the concurrence of at least threemembers of that household.

The weather became soft and wet. During the last weekor two before a holiday it was Mr. Golden's custom to sethis garden in order, to shave the grass close and leave theclippings strewn over it, to weed the beds and summer-prune the dimbers. But this year he was continually frus-trated by heavy showers which made the grass far too wetfor cutting and waterlogged the borders.

In the fine intervals Pat weeded the crazy path anddipped the nitida hedge. She talked over the hedge to thenext-door children and gave them hot cakes whenever shebaked, and she played tennis on the public courts with theyoung couple who lived on the other side and a youngrelative of theirs.

It was an unhurried, uncomplicated way of living. Pathad always been dose to her father and her affection forthe cottage had roots deep down in her childhood. With thepart of her which belonged to them she was happy; therest was locked away.

Hugh was a problem which she tackled on her firstWednesday at the cottage. He had come to tea on Sundayand treated her with the solicitude one extends to aninvalid. Mr. Gordon's presence had sustained the balance.

Later that evening her father had shaken his head ovesHugh. "I'm not sure I was wise to allow that young madto attach himself to me, but I was sorry for him. He's

shaping fairly well and when this holiday is ovee S'll seeto it that he stands alone."

"Your befriending him has helped him to like Manbury,and indirectly influenced his work. Hugh's trouble is thatnow he has so much he's growing an appetite for more."

Edmund Gordon had smiled. "You, too? Perhaps it'sas well that he's going away for a month."

He didn't take it seriously because, like other lovingfathers, he considered his own daughter too young formarriage. To him it was no time at all since she had worea school uniform and grumbled about homework.

When Hugh turned up that Wednesday it was not byinvitation. The morning sun, glaring from between twobanks of doud, shone down upon his thick brown hair ashe opened the gate, and gave a rather touching quality tothe smile he at once tamed upon Pat. She straightened fromstaking young chrysanthemums, drew off her muddy glovesand beat them together.

In an instant it ran through her mind that her fatherwas out and there was no escape. Well, she was up to it,though she did hope he would not be too hurt. After all,she had never encouraged him, never on a single occasionsought him out, and it really had been rather odd of him topropose marriage when there had never been the smallestsuggestion of love-making between them.

"Hello," she said cheerfully. "I expect you're at a looseend all alone there at the school. Isn't it grim with no boysabout?"

"Slightly, but I've been lying around reading and sketch-ing. I've been doing an awful lot of thinking, too."

"That's a habit we all have. I find gardening the be& antidote for it."

"I didn't particularly crave an antidote." Oh, Lord, she'd laid herself wide open. Pat pointed

along the garden. "The ddphiniums are lovely, aren't they? The pale ones are from new roots which me Headmaster and my father are trying out together. Ours beat the Head's!" She stopped, aware of the futility of trying to lead him gently. A dentist doesn't lead up to the pulling of a tooth; he gets it over with. But Pat hadn't the dinica!approach. "My father's out," she said apprehensively.

"I hoped he would be, because . . . well, it's time wehad a talk." He sounded uncertain of himself, and not toohappy. "Since the day we spent together I haven't beenable to make any plans or think ahead in any way becauseso much depends on you. I haven't even made any prepara-tions for the tour of the Lakes." .

"But you're going?" "I want to, but it's far less important just now than other

things." He kicked a stone from the path. "You're not inlove with me, are you?"

"No," she said gently, relieved. "I'm not." His glance still downcast in absorbed contemplation of

the stone flags, he said, "I must have been crazy, but mendo these silly things — pick on a woman who's a thousandtimes too good for them and think they can rush her intomarriage."

"You're being unnecessarily harsh with yourself. I'm nobetter than any other woman, but you've allowed yourselfto believe me the ultimate of perfection. I don't thinkyou're really in love with me, Hugh. . . ."

He looked up sharply, his face pale. -'That's a prettyheartless thing to say! You're the only girl I've ever wishedto marry."

"I'm not being callous," she protested. "You didn't giveme a chance to finish. What I meant was 'that being estab-lished at the school, with the promise of a bungalow ifyou marry, has worked on you subconsciously. Probablymost of your life you've longed to have a home andpossessions, and marriage and a solid job are the apex ofthose desires. You should have gone about more, Hugh,met other girls."

"You speak as if I'vs been walking around all my lifewith my eyes shut," he said bitterly. "I've met lots ofwomen, but it happens to be you I want to marry, and noone dse." »

"But it wouldn't be much fun to have a wife whodidn't love you, would it?"

This sobered Hugh. He raised a hand to adjust a non-existent tie and found himself dragging at the open collarinstead. The brown eyes were miserable.

"Pat, couldn't we be engaged — just on trial? Iwouldn't make any . o . any demands. I'm not the sort."

"It wouldn't be any good. Engagement are lowly aa<3intimate when it's inevitable they'll be followed by mar°riage, but a trial engagement" — she gestured with theflat of her hand, appealingly — "it doesn't stand a chancebecause it isn't based on love. You must lealize that l€sbogus."

"How can you know?" "It's something you fed. Being in love is so tremen-

dously big that you can't mistake even the beginnings of it.That's why S doubted whether you were really in lovewith me."

"But my love for you is big. I haven't beea able to thinkof anything else."

With the suddenness of taming a tap the sun went icand the wind's caress became a shrewd blast. Pat shivered."You've been so busy with your own emotions that yoohaven't had time to bother with mine. I'm not in lovewith you, Hugh. I'm sorry, but I'm not now, and B nevercould be. And it's my conviction," she ended slowly, "thatlove can only be genuine when it meets a response in theother person. Any other kind is best lived down andforgotten."

Something in her tone kept Hugh silent. He tamed andwalked beside her along the path to the door.

"Come in and have some coffee," she said. "My fatfaeewill be back at any moment."

He entered the lounge but did not follow her to thekitchen. Pat washed her hands, made the coffee and heapeda dish with jam fingers. She lingered a further minute ostwo till her father's voice was audible, then carried thetray along to the lounge.

Mr. Gordon had spread across the arms of a chair anew map just purchased in Exeter, and he was pointingout the best walking roads ia the mountains around Wast°water.

"We'll reach this point at the end of the first week," hewas saying, with his forefinger on the map, "and I suggestwe remain there and do some simple climbing. Did youborrow those studded boots, Dyson?"

"No, I forgot." "Why was that? Is your enthusiasm running outf "No. I'll get theia,"

Gradually Hugh's awkwardness was worn down; perhapsrenewed gusto was too much to expect of him just yet.

"I'm taking a suitcase, and a rucksack large enough tohold pyjamas and a couple of shirts," Mr. Gordon told him.Quite often you wander too far to get back to the hotelor farmhouse the same night."

"I'm in a quandry over laundry," said Hugh gloomily."There seems to be no one left at the school who'll do it."

"Bring it here," invited Pat. "Mrs. Moss will include itwith ours."

After more conversation about the tour Hugh got upfrom his chair.

"I'll be going. Thanks for the coffee, Pat ... and foreverything."

When me sound of his footsteps had receded Pat felt alittle depressed. She knew what it was to be unhappy andlonely, and she hadn't wanted to lose his friendship. Shewas horribly afraid she had, though.

Her father had folded the map and was writing, in hisneat script, on a sheet torn from an exercise book.

"This is a list of the places we shall stay at and theapproximate dates," he said. "I'll write you from most of ^them and you must let me have a letter now and then."

"There are still eight or nine days before you leave." He smiled at her. "In that case you may expect to have

these instructions reiterated several times before I go. By theway, I didn't take the train to Exeter this morning. SimonLeigh ran me there in his car."

"Simon?" It seemed ten yars since she had spoken thename aloud. "Where did you meet him?"

"On the way .to the station. He asked how you weregetting along."

"Is everything as usual at Craigwood?" "Presumably. Why dqn't you go up there and see?" This was not easy to answer. Matron had said, "We

won't dig you out of the cottage. Pat — that wouldn't befair — but do come and see us as often as you can." Ralphhad winked: "We're all going to miss those big grey eyesof yours." And Aunt Alison had kissed her and whispered,"Patricia, my dear, when I go back to Truro, you're goingwith me." After that Pat's smile bad been bright withtears.

- But it was Simon who had brought her to the cottage,Simon who had murmured with a malicious twist of theSips, "So you're aching to get away from wonderful Craig-wood and the Leighs. See that you have heaps of flirtatiousfun, little one, and in the unlikely event of your needingany of us, you know where to find us." Pat was in doubt asto what he had intended to convey. Simon tore away every-thing, left not a single doubt anywhere except those whichexisted in connection with his own private life.

"Not much can have happened since Sunday," she saidnow. Then she had to put the query; "Did Simon sayanything worth repeating?"

Her father lifted his shoulders. "He was rather silent —preoccupied, I thought. When we parted I suggested hecome over, but he made the excuse of being too busy."

Which confirmed Pat's previous convictions. He wouldn'6call in at the cottage even if some business brought himthis way, and if she went to Craigwood it would be tanta-mount to admitting defeat at his hands. It wasn't her stay-ing with her father that he objected to. Pat had a horriblefear that he suspected part of the truth — that living in thesame house with him had become unendurable. She prayedfrom the depths of her heart that he had not guessed whyit had become unendurable. She asked n© more about him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE weather continued soggy, and Mr. Gordon continuedto fume mildly because the grass grew longer every dayand the hope of cropping it dose grew fainter. The gardenfruit was not too good this year and it looked as if onlythe late apples would be worth picking. Mrs. Moss, on theother hand, had a fine show in her little garden at the otherend of the village, and she brought Pat a large basket ofegg plums for preserves and jam-making.

It was this particular task which took Pat into Mrs.Chard's post office-cum-tackshop one morning. She was insearch of greaseproof paper to tie over the jam, and asthe wizened, red-cheeked old lady could be depended uponto rood® oat almost any oddment from one of hes boxes,

laffi

Pat pushed open the narrow door to the ping of the bell and went to the right-hand counter.

To the left of the shop was the post office, and this morning Mrs. Chard was engaged with a heavily-built man whom Pat recognized with a dull shock as Max Bristow.

Involuntarily, she watched him hand in his telegram and wait while the woman counted the words. To Pat he appeared vaguely different from how she remembered him; less square of shoulder, less healthy in color, and as he stood there his thickish fingers drummed on the massive and grubby blotter. Mrs.'Chard told him the cost and he paid.

He tamed from the counter and gazed fixedly at Pat, or rather he seemed to gaze right through her.

She said, "Good morning, Mr. Bristow." The ghostliest of smiles passed across his face, leaving it

blank. But he answered politely, "Good morning, Miss . . . er . . . Gordon," and passed out of the shop.

Pat was mystified and uneasy. She began to ask Mrs. Chard for the greaseproof paper, but the postmistress leaned both arms on the counter and nodded pityingly at the door.

"Poor man, he feels it," she commented. "He's so nice, too. It's mostly the nice ones who get the bad. luck."

"Mr. Bristow? What bad luck?" "Haven't you heard? First his wife's ill, and now Dol-

bridge is up for sale." "Oh, no!" Pat was horrified. Her contact with Max had been of the

most trivial, but even so she had gained a realization of how much his family home meant to him. Max Bristow without Dolbridge was nearly as impossible to visualize as the Leighs without Craigwood. What in the world could have brought about such a disaster?"

"It's true enough," stated Mrs. Chardj relishing the role/ of informant. "That telegram was about the same thing.

They do say his wife is going to leave him for good, but I don't call that a sensible reason for selling up. Good rid- dance, I'd say, and may the second Mrs. Bristow make him happy. But men are funny," she finished wisely, "particu- larly the sort who'll take anything from a woman so long as she'll live with 'em half the year."

Pat still could not take it m. Even when a packet ofgrease-proof paper had been found under a heap ofassorted shoe laces and she was threading along the narrowpavement with it in her hand, the knowledge had an aura offantasy. No wonder the man had looked as though he wereliving with ghosts; perhaps they were the ghosts of hisparents and grandparents, of bygone Bristows who rose toreproach him. Why sell house and farm if his wife wasbreaking the marriage? Already he was accustomed tobeing without her during the cold months, and surely hisfamily traditions were too deeply ingrained to be sacrificedon the altar of his love for a woman who was not worthyof him?

And what of Elise? The dosed portion of Pat's heartbegan painfully to throb. Elise was of the type to need aman. She might not love Max, might even despise him,but in spite of her seeming hdplessness she was toodever to dispense with one protector and provider beforebeing certain that his place would be taken by another.

Pat hated her thoughts and the surge of feeling whichhad prompted them. Rumors winged about the villagewith the speed and regularity of summer birds, and Mrs.Chard's shop had always been known as a nest of scandal.It might be true that Max was selling Dolbridge, but thatElise should decide while recovering from some mysteriousillness to become independent of her husband was lesscredible.

Back in the cottage Pat went ahead with her bottlingand jam-making, and in the intervals between skimmingstones from the boiling liquid she made a trifle and ahoneycomb sponge, because she had suddenly made up hermind to invite the next-door children to tea; their motherwas often worn out and would welcome a respite from thekfrolics.

When the jam was tied down it was time to preparelunch, a cold one today to use up some of the gardensalads which would otherwise go to seed during her father'sabsence. She would have to leave preserving the rest of meplums till tomorrow.

It was not till evening, when her small neighbors haddeparted and Pat was gathering up sweet-wrappings anddrink-straws from the grass, that she spoke to her father

about the matter which had lain very dose to the surface of her mind all day.

"Darling, have you heard mat Mr. Bristow is selling Dolbridge?"

Edmund Gordon finished lighting his pipe, flicked out the match and carefully placed it among the debris she had collected. "Someone told me — I forget whom. The sale of a place that size will take several months. The land is invery good shape, I believe."

He was uninterested, she thought despairingly. In histime he had seen a good many regrettable happenings in hisbeloved countryside, and he was now of an age to acceptthem philosophically. She had often heard him say that itnever did any good to look backward, that life was now andin the future, never behind. But what could the future holdfor Max if the focal point of his existence were removed?

For supper she made the toasted cream cheese sandwichesthat her father liked, and grilled some tomatoes. It was atasty meal and tonight the coffee had an extra richness,but to Pat nothing had any flavor. She wished she couldhave a chat with Marion, but shrank from exposing herinterest in the Bristows; she wished it were possible to makea friendly call upon Honour Willings, who knew moreabout Dolbridge than anyone else . , . except perhapsSimon.

She had been in bed two hours and the church clock wassounding twelve benevolent chimes before she had reluct-antly to condude that there was nothing whatever shecould do.

The week-end came and passed. On Sunday, Hugh spenta moody hour at the cottage in a further debate uponLakeland, and he promised to come next Thursday eveningto make final arrangements. On Monday, Mrs. Moss had abumper washing day, and on Tuesday she and Pat sharedthe ironing.

Mrs. Moss went off at four o'clock, and Pat left thedean things on the kitchen table 'and set out for a walk,There had been rain and the heavier trees still sent downspatters of drops on the wind. One grew so tired of thesmell of rain, of seeing flower-petals glued together with itand rotting, and the grass growing rank. Even the farmerswere saying they had had enough.

She reached the main street, looked fleetingly to the right,which was the way to Craigwood, and turned left. Shewould go as far as Wincott's corner, turn left again anddimb the other side of the hill towards the school. Therewas a footpath which ran along the school boundary anddown towards the cottage.

Pat was not walking fast, nor was she interested in theshop windows. Valiant holiday-makers, who had made theafternoon trip from the coast to enjoy the older part of thevillage, were thronging into the tea rooms, and vehicles ofall kinds were parked each side of the road. Had Simon'scar been less long and opulent she would have missed it. Asit was she was nearly level with it before realizing to whomit belonged. The next second, of course, the whole interioswas indelibly printed on her brain.

Simon sat behind the wheel with one arm across it, andhe was speaking urgently to the lovely creature at hisside. Elise, delicately pale and small in a fine tweed coatwhich was both lined and collared with golden seal, a capof golden seal on her head, looked fragile and appealing.She gestured aimlessly.

Then Pat had passed on and round the corner. For fully five minutes she walked automatically aa<B

thought not at all. Then, with an odd precision, sherecalled every detail of how those two had looked, theirengrossment one with the other, and the fact that the carhad been stopped outside the offices of the Manburysolicitor. Pat knew that office very well; she had workedthere for a couple of years after leaving school and hadfirst met Marion Leigh in the lawyer's sanctum.

Simon was telling Elise something she must do, and Elis®was afraid; that was how it appeared to Pat. But for themoment she was unfit to cope with all the implications.She knew a swift renewal of dread and despair. Elise wasbetter but she had to be enveloped in furs. Pat rememberedher own last Friday morning at Craigwood, Simon'sdecision that she should be well wrapped for the river. Thefoolishness of conjecture swept over her, hurting with itsviolence.

Her footsteps hurried. The worst of living in a villagewas that one could never get away from it, never escape

the local atmosphere. She couldn't go on living if Elise andSimon . . .

Elise and Simon. No, that was something she would notstay to face! There was always London, the exciting roundwith Roy, the hectic gaiety which helped one to forget.

Ten minutes later she came upon her father in the cottagegarden. He looked up from rueful contemplation of apatch of slain slugs.

"I can't imagine what this garden will look like by theend of August," he sighed.

"I shouldn't worry. This spell must break, and when itdoes I'll get someone to help me put things right."

He straightened, and his regard was keen, though hespoke without emphasis. "Let's take the evening bus intoExeter, have a meal there and go to the cinema. I haven'tseen a film for about three years."

"There's some mending to be done." "It can wait till tomorrov/. We needn't pack my staff

till Thursday. Go on, my dear, put on one of your bestfrocks, and don't take longer than half an hour to makeyourself pretty. I'll be ready before you are."

Pat acquiesced and, feeling her father's gaze upon heras she went into the house, she made an attempt to appearjaunty. But much later, when she had battled through arestaurant meal, , sat out a not very good film and ^theywere jolting homewards, her father put an anxious query.

"Feeling quite well, Pat?" At once she answered, "Of course. A bit sleepy, that's

all." "You know," he said, "we could still take you north with

us. I don't suppose Mrs. Leigh would object-." "If you were going alone I'd be inclined to ask for long

leave, but a month of Hugh!" She had infused into her voice sufficient laughing distaste

to deceive him. Edmund Gordon relaxed.

»a

Next morning Pat tackled the mending. The sun wasshining into the kitchen, so she sat near the open windowwith the table pulled near. It was a typical cottage kitchen,not all white tiles and chromium.

Her father's shirts and socks, thanks to Mrs. Moss, werein excellent condition, but Hugh's were deplorable. Notone of the ten pairs of socks was without a hole, andneither did Pat come across a shirt which was not minus a.button of so badly frayed at the cuffs that the only remedywas to tarn them. Most of his underwear needed repairs,too. None of his belongings showed signs of previousmending, and she guessed that the porter's wife whohandled his laundry did only the minimum that wasexpected of her. This task she was doing exasperated PatNo man should be so thoroughly at the mercy of others.

The last shirt finished, she tamed to the socks. She hadjust threaded the darning needle and pushed the mush-room down to the toe of a brown sock when the front bellrang. Still holding both sock and needle she went throughand opened the door. For an expanding moment shestared up into the hazel-green eyes. Then she stood aside.

"Hallo, Simon," she said lightly. "Come in." He did, and closed the door. He had not changed; tall,

unsmiling and impenetrably cool, he followed her into thelounge.

"My father's gone down to collect a rucksack which thesaddler was to strengthen for him," Pat explained. "Heshouldn't be long."

"It was you I came to see." Simon took out cigarettes,"Have one of these and sit down."

"I'm in the thick of running repairs which I daren'tleave any longer. Care to say your piece id the kitchen?"

His eyes narrowed. "Snappy, aren't you? Very well, leadme to the kitchen."

She was nerving herself against the unknown. It hasoften been said that attack is the best form of defence,and .this morning, because all she seemed to have left waspride. Pat was desperately trying it out.

In the kitchen she again sat in the chair near the window,but Simon did not take the one she .indicated; he camenearer and- sank on to the edge of the table. Again heoffered cigarettes.

"No, thanks," she said, still in the carefully airy tooe,"but you have one. What did you want to see me about?"

"I happened to be coming this way and Marion asSeed me«.„ —n »•

A blow, this, though she had known he could have nopersonal reason.

"That was nice of her." "Was it?" His look was cool and appraising. "Away

from Craigwood you're bright and sparkling. I wonderwhy?"

Assiduously plying her needle, her head bent, she replied,"I think a change is good for everyone, and the simple lifehas always suited me. Any spedal message from Marion?"

"Correspondence is piling up. She's dealt with some ofit but she feels you know more than she does about therest. I'm supposed to take you back to lunch."

Pat had to let a minute or two slip by. Sunshine glintedover her bowed head and showed up each cloudy little tendril. Her tensed jaw was pale in the strong light.

"I'll come after lunch," she said, "and stay till all me letters are cleared."

"I thought you'd say that." Her hand gestured towards the pile of clothing. "Yens

can see how busy I am." "Someone else does this for your father when you're

not here," he said sharply. "These aren't my father's," she told him dearly, but

without looking up. "They're Hugh Dyson's." The tension which had grown between them from the

moment he entered the house was in a second drawn taut. "Dyson," he said in the amused, hateful tone he had

employed before when speaking of the art master. "Why isn't he here to complete the domestic scene? How will you survive during the month he's away with your father?"

"Surely you've heard the old saying about the effect of absence upon the awakening heart?"

"Are you trying to annoy me, Patricia?" She glanced up, saw the warning glitter in his eyes, and

looked away. "How would you feel if I could resist sneer- ing at your friends?" she asked, managing a shrug. "I don't see that the fact that yours happen to be among tte wealthy entitles you to more consideration. After all . . o"

"Be quiet," he said roughly. Pat's fingers were trembling, but somehow she pushed the

needle in and out, on and out. Her face was hot, her eyes blurred, and an obstruction had fanned in hes throat. lii

he couldn't be nice why didn't he stay away? If only heifather would come! She snipped the wool, laid aside thesock and needle and stood up.

"Simon, will you please go now?" He ignored this, took another irritating pull at his

dgarette and looked at her through the smoke. "When Marion next sees you she's going to ask why

you haven't been to Craigwood since you left Sunday week." "If you're there when she makes her enquiries," said Pat

none too steadily, "you'll be able to answer for me." Witha weak effort to persuade the conversation into more normalchannels, she added, "Are they well — Marion and Mrs.Cunliffe?"

"Perfectly well. You'll have to do some explaining toAunt Alison, too. The sweet thing has become incompre-hensibly fond of you. She's keen to know whether Dysonhas painted your portrait."

"He hasn't," remarked Pat shortly. "I guessed that. He may aspire but he stops short of

deeds — which shows that he has a modicum of goodsense." He searched around for an ashtray and, findingnone, he came beside Pat at the window and tossed hiscigarette into a flwer bed. "I'll wait here while you change,Ritrica."

"I'm not changing till after lunch." "Don't be stubborn, my child. I'm a bad enemy, and

you know it. Go and change the housefrock for one ofthose stripy silks. They suit you."

"I won't lunch at Craigwood," she stated flatly. "What you mean is that you won't lunch with me," he

said mockingly. "You're afraid because I won't let youdeceive yourself. I'm sorry, little one, but mis is oneunpleasant fact you'll have to face. Either you'll come toCraigwood or I'll take my lunch here, with you and yourfather."

She drew in her lip. "Since the night yon first came toCumberland Square you've delighted in forcing me to dothings against my will; you started right away, and havekept on. I'll never understand you, Simon."

"You could try a little harder," he suggested. TV®still a few weeks to go." ^ :'

U7

She fingered the catch of the window. "So your plans are unaltered. You're going?"

"' His manner, as he tamed towards her, was shrewd. "Why should my plans be altered?"

She tried to sound offhand. "Why, indeed? But you did change your mind once, when you came to Craigwood for the larger part of your leave."

His mouth was thin and sardonic. "I din't change my mind, Patricia — you changed it. You called me a coward where Craigwood was concerned, and I couldn't let you get away with that. I had to prove to you that Craigwood couldn't keep me. It won't."

Half-fearfully, half-glad, she thought, "He's only help- ing Elise. He doesn't want her. If he wanted her he'd have to stay."

Then, like a cut from a whip, came the reminder that for years Elise had not spent a winter in England — and Simon would be bound for a warm dimate.

The sick despondency engendered by the reflection kept her silent. She held on tight to the window-catch and willed her father to come back. And there at last he was, pausing over by the hedge before coming into the house.

Softly, tauntingly, Simon said, "You're far worse than the village folk, my pet. Yesterday's gossip is dead as mutton to them. They like it piping hot."

There was no time for a reply, even if Pat had had the ability to frame one, for Mr. Gordon saw them at the window and came straight to the back door.

"Well, Simon," he said, "How are you? We don'i asually do our entertaining in the kitchen."

"Didn't you get the rucksack?" enquired Pat. "Yes ... I must have left it on the garden seat. Are

you lunching with us, Simon?" "Thank you," he said politely, with a faint but sharp

grin at Pat. "I'd like to very much." Paying no attention to the fast beating of her heart. Pat

began to dear the things from the table. "You two had better leave me to it, then. Don't look forward to a banquet, Simon. It'll be modest and cold."

"Exactly what I'd expect from you, Patrica," he answered sucdnctly, after which he accompanied her father to the sitting-roqca,

Tiny, cautious wings of pleasure took possession of herspirit. Not happiness, for there was too much bitterness in.her love for Simon for that. But it was good to preparefor him salad and fruits, to open a predous tin of tongueand make an orderly pile of cheese straws. Lucky that shehad managed to obtain such an excellent quality coffee.Everything helped.

When all was ready she washed and, without an instant'shesitation, chose the green-and-white striped silk frock.He was getting his own way again, but what did it matterso long as it gave one delight, however acid-sweet? Shehad to make the most of the moment, because in a fewweeks from now he would be speeding away to the otheeside of the world.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN'

AUNT ALISON was puzzled and mildly upset, a conditionwhich was not improved by the fact that Charlotte hadtaken to her bed with a cold. Not that she disapproved ofpeople lying up with a cold; indeed, she had insisted onCharlotte's resting completely and given Edna a pound noteto ensure the prompt serving of meals to the top-floorbedroom.

But to Mrs. Cunliffe life was never whole unlessCharlotte were at hand for discussions. Her companionhad a large fund of what is known as "horse-sense", andAunt Alison had come to rely on the matter-of-fact leaven-ing to her own wishful deductions. A woman of seventy,she admitted to herself, did tend to take the roseate view,particularly of the circumstances surrounding those shecared for. And since coming to Craigwood she had dis-covered that apart from Charlotte there were three peopleshe loved very much, and a fourth of whom she wasbecoming exceptionally fond. But it seemed as if fate werewretchedly determined that nothing should come right forany of them.

She ought to be grateful, of course, that Simon haddefinitely set a time limit to his travelling, but it is anincontrovertible fact that once one has assimilated an itemof good news one grows dissatisfied with me limitations

that still remaffl. She wasted the best fof Simon; she alwayshad.

She wanted his children here at Craigwood, playing by(he river and hunting imaginary lions in the woods as shehad played and hunted so many years ago with her brother,his\father. She wanted him to have a wife he adored, andso much the better, naturally, if the wife adored him, too,though Aunt Alison could not imagine any woman notadoring Simon once he had chosen to lavish upon her all'the tenderness and passion of which she knew him to becapable.

There was little one could do about Simon, though. Onewatched and heped, that was all.

Marion presented a different problem, yet one couldn'tget to the bottom of that, either. The available facts weresimple: a bond of friendship existed between Marion andRalph Sedgwick, and it was the type of friendship whichwas doing no end of good to both of them. No one admiredfeminen poise more than Mrs. Cunliffe, but she preferred itto spring from confidence in one's own womanhood, no£from pride in one's organizing and business ability.

Marion was a fine-looking woman who carried her yearswith grace and dignity, and on the surface it would appearthat she and Ralph could make each other happy. Tilltoday, Aunt Alison had had no doubt that given time thosetwo would marry. Without Charlotte by her side she didnot care to dwell upon the silent half-hour at the luncheoatable.

She leaned back in her garden chair and allowed herknitting to slip forward to her knees. This was her favoriteposition, where she could look out across the lawns andsee the river all gleams of silver among the willow branchesand the pastures the other side splodged with cattle. It wasstill coot; such a pity to have to wear a tweed suit anda woolly jumper on the high days of summer.

A car sounded on the drive and her head tamed so thatshe could watch it appear at the bend. Ah, Simon, with Pat.Her glance followed the big burgundy car round to thefront steps; he was talking of shipping the thing to theWest Indies. They got out of the car simultaneously, bothdoors wide, then slammed. Pat came straight across the

grass, bent and shyly touched her lips to Aunt Alison's

temple. "So you came at the call of duty, Patricia." "I'm sorry." She was smiling slightly, aad flushed.

"You see ..." "It was my fault she didn't come before," put in Simon

lazily. "Let's leave it like that." "I suppose it was also your fault she didn't get here to

lunch?" "I suppose it was, darling. Let the child run indoors and

tap her typewriter. You can speak to her later." "I mean to," said Aunt Alison firmly. After Pat had crossed to the steps and disappeared into

the house, Simon had crossed to the steps and disappeared into the house, Simon lowered himself to the grass and lay; resting on one elbow. Aunt Alison contemplated the top of his sleek head.

"I wish you had got here to lunch, Simon," she said on a sigh. "I was never very good at handling silences."

"Did you have to eat alone?" "No — I can enjoy occasional solitariness. Marion and

Ralph were here but they behaved as if they weren't — as if the other weren't, if you know what I mean."

Simon shifted so that he could see her face. "Really? Why was that?"

"I haven't a notion. They were all right before they went out. People like those two don't quarreL ..."

"So they went out. Where to?" "Nowhere in particular. Ralph decided to tiy his new

car on a good stretch of road and Marion went along with him. They were gone about an hour. I didn't see them again till we met, in the dining-room in an atmosphere of considerable constraint."

"Where are they now?" "Marion's either in her room os with Pat. Ralph, I

believe, went to the boathouse." Simon thought for a moment and then shrugged. "They're

both middle-aged and full of sense. It isn't our business." "But it's worrying, especially as Ralph is usually so un-

daunted. Couldn't you have a talk with him ?" Simon sat up straight and said emphatically, "I could

not! Men don't pry into one another's affaiiSg, my sweefc

It may have been something quite trivial — perhaps Ralph'^driving is not so good as Marion's, and she told him so."

"Be serious, Simon." "You're serious enough for both of as. Your trouble,

my dear aunt, is that you're continually on the alert forromance. You can't see a man and a woman together with-out slipping an idyllic backdoth behind them. I'll admit I invited Ralph down here because he admired Marion and I thought it might come to something, but I'm not doing any pushing. If they have had a row, let them stew as others have to, until one of them gives in."

"You're so hard, dear boy." "No, I've merely learned how to deal with the emotional

aps and downs of existence," he said abruptly. Not by any means relieved, she sat examining his pro-

file; it was dark and fine-drawn, the mouth compressed at mis' corner as if his thoughts were unpleasant. Simon the incalculable, ever anxious to yield sympathy when it was needed, but ruthless when another's trouble touched a nerve centre in his own being. She wondered yearningly whether, when all this unfortunate business with me Bristows was over, he would find pea.ee with that woman, ®r with someone else.

The pause between them must have lasted nearly ten minutes when Ralph came up the slope from the river. BOA saw him but neither spoke till he had strolled right no to the hedge and through the rose garden to the lawn.

"Still on that boat?" queried Simon. "You sea-chaps are noted for tenacity."

Ralph stood with his hands in his pockets, his tanned, lined face towards the river. His usual smile was absent, but there was nothing else remarkable about him.

"She's not a bad craft," hs observed. "Nearly good enough to go to sea."

"You'll have to try sailing her down the river to the mouth." Simon paused. "Aunt Alison tells me yon tried-" out the new bus this morning. How did it go?"

Ralph hitched his slacks and sat down in a canvas chair. "Quite well —- couldn't get np much speed, of course, but i£ ran smoothly."

"The Marlsea road?"

UTO

He nodded. "We didn't drive right in to Marlsea. GoEa cigarette, Simon? I left mine in my room."

For a moment or two he was engaged with the lightingof the cigarette. Simon lit up, too, and Aunt Alisonthought how pleasant it would be to have these two meabeside her, at ease, if only there were no fretting under"currents.

Unnecessarily, Ralph tapped away ash. "It's grand here— I've enjoyed every day of my stay. but I shall have tobe getting back to town."

"Oh, but no!" cried Aunt Alison. "We love having youhere, and you've said yourself how uncomfortable it is inthat beastly club. We've all taken it for granted you won'tleave before Simon does."

"It's kind of you," Ralph said evenly, "but I can't im- pose upon your hospitality for so long, and I'm afraid Ihave business that can't wait."

"Business ?" she echoed. "Ralph has connections with a City firm," said Simon

easily. "He was uncertain whether to enter the business world or sail the south seas. Apparently business has it."

"How disappointing." She looked pleadingly at Ralph. "Do you really have to go?"

Again it was Simon who answered. "Such matters have their importance in the scheme of things, Aunt Alison. Maybe Ralph will come back later."

"I do hope so . . ." She felt Simon's swift and surrep- titious tag at her hand which hung over the arm of her chair, and ended, "Well, these things happen, don't they? When are you leaving, Ralph?"

"Tomorrow morning, straight after breakfast. I apologize for not having mentioned this before, but I wasn't certain." He got to his feet. "I think I'll go in and wash . Excuse me."

His depatmre was followed by a long-drawn breath from Aunt Alison.

"Don't say it," advised Simon. "The man knows his own mind. None better."

"You were no help at all," she said tartly. "If you lei him go to London they'll be parted for ever."

Simon had pushed himself upright and was looking down at her. "My dear," he said, in the dipped tones she

153

dreaded, "I've told you before that yoor viewpoint is oat"moded. These days, when a man and woman get annoyedwith each other it's done with sophistication. The womacdoesn't melt into tears, neither does the man grovel. Nodoubt when you were younger such incident ended swiftlyand sentimentally, but the world has changed."

"For the worse!" she interjected. "The world has be-come a poor place if a man won't help his friend to findhappiness."

"Ralph's better left alone till he's had time to do somethinking. He's a sailor-man and used to thinking alone.Besides, how do we know that this has any connectionwith his private feelings for Marion?" In sudden angerhe said, "If I hear anything more about this, or any furthesveiled comments about Elise, I'll dear out myself!"

Her hand went out to him in a gesture of contrition."Simon, I'm so sorry. I'm really only concerned that yooand Marion shall be happy."

"Yes, I know." His anger cooled, he lightly touched heshair. "We're all getting on edge over other people's affairs, which is silly but somehow unavoidable. I have to go out Shall I get you a book?"

She shook her head. "I'll knit. Will you be gone long?" 'Till about five-thirty. Get Pat to stay and I'll drive hee

down later." Aunt Alison did not at once start to knit. She listened

to the receding noise of the car and thought how far ws sometimes become removed from those we love most. With Simon she had occasionally achieved a warm current of understanding which had made up for his rare cruelties. He didn't intend to be cruel, she knew that. It was simply that some inddent, some twist of conversation would make him go hard and cold as stone, and in those moments no one was immune.

There was quite accumulation of mail for Pat's attention.Sodeties were drawing up their winter programmes, makingnp theis asoimts, asking for advice and financial assistance,,

and suggesting that Mrs. Leigh was bound to attend this osthat meeting. The requests had come in a flood.

When she had been working for about ten "minutes,,Marion had come into the room.

"Nice to see you. Pat," she had said. "Need anyassistance?'"

"I don't think so. Do we still tell everyone yon're heretill the end of September?"

Marion had nodded. "You'll see I've pinned cheques tothe letters where subscriptions are due. I'll leave you to geton with them."

Momentarily, Pat was uneasy. It was not in Marion'snature to be effusive, but neither had the coolness of hergreeting been quite normal. Equally to be rejected wasthe thought that Marion "might be hurt because she hadstayed away from Craigwood. Marion had no pettiness; hadshe felt at all strongly about the matter she would havebrought it at once into the open. No, Marion's remotenesshad nothing to do with Pat.

Inevitably, she speculated about it, and just as inevitably she traced the source to Simon . . . and Elise Bristow.Poor Marion was depressed. Pat hit the wrong key and pulled up in her thoughts. She must not think of Simom now; there was too much to do.

At four-fifteen Mansell, his chin held high in disap° proval, brought a single cup of tea with a biscuit in the saucer. His leave was over and he was probably sharing duties with Parker, an arrangement which apparently did not suit him. Mansell was acustomed to taking care of an empty house and earning a second income as the school shoe repairer in his ample spare time.

Pat finished typing the last letter soon after five. She signed and sealed the batch and carried them through tothe hall. There was no one about, no fires lit yet, and she felt drawn to peep into the familiar drawing-room with its Hepplewhite chairs and the great bowl of white and orange gladioli on the top of the piano. From there shewent on to the morning-room, and for a while she stoodnear the closed french window, remembering the lastbreakfast they had had in the open doorway and the scentsfrom the herb-garden which had inextricably mingledwith the more robust odors from the kitcheoo

155

"I beg your pardon o . . Oh, it's yoo. Pat" Ralphhad entered the room, smiling formally. He dropped 8,newspaper into the seat of a chair. "3 rather like thisloom, too. It's cosy and has pleasant assodatioas. Are yocback at Craigwood for good?"

"No, and I'm only a temporary resident a£ me best ofSimes. How is our ship going?"

He brightened a little. "I've fixed the new trim inme cabin and ifs smartened her up. I've put in a couple offold-up bunks as well. She's fit to take quite a trip. Careto go down with me and inspect?"'

"Of course, I'd love to." He opened the french window, went with her into the

garden and slipped a hand into the crook of her elbow. Hisconversation on the way down' to the river was mainlynautical, and as he moved agilely about the boat andexplained the renovations and improvements they bothbecame absorbed. Finally, Pat looked at her watch.

"Ifs ten to six, and I have to cook dinner this evening!I must run, Ralph."

"How are you going home " "I expect Simon will take me.'" "He's not back yet from Dolbridge. I haven't heard the

car." "From . . . Dolbridge?" It was less a question than a

pained echo. "Are you sure he's gone there?" "Mrs. Bristow telephoned him this morning. I heard him

promise to go over." Ralph leapt up to the bank and leanta hand. "It's sticky here, through the rain. Be careful."

When she had gained a foothold and was walking withhim slowly towards the house, Pat said, "Ralph, is it truethat Elise and Max are to be divorced?"

"I don't know." His glance at her was knowledgeableand troubled. "That illness of hers wasn't physical, youknow. She had some sort of nervous collapse, and a womanof her type would take every advantage of being me centreof attention. Why don't you ask Simon?"

"I'm not that interested." But there was a small quiverin her voice. "Simon cares for her, doesn't he?"

"That's another thing I don't know. He never talks abouther, but he does have dark moods. You know. Pat" — hewas smiling sadly -=• "Craigwood is deceptive. On the

ourface, it's heart-warming, and you feel that nothing could ever go wrong there, but if you stay long enough yon discover that it's only beautiful bricks and mortar set m green acres,"

"If you really believe that, you've never felt the spirit of the place. I suppose the spirit of a house is the result of black patches as well as of all the happiness which has existed there. Marion's only a Leigh by marriage, but she feels it, too."

This met no response. They went on walking, companion- ably quiet, and presently they were back in the house and Aunt Alison was hailing them from the drawing-room.

"I want a chat with you, Patricia," she said. "Come and sit down with me on the chesterfield."

"I really must go," Pat protested. "My poor fatheiE deserves one hot meal a day."

"At least have a cocktail with us. Will you mix them,Ralph?" She tamed to Marion, who sat in an armchairwith an unopened book on her lap. "You'll have one, won'tyou, Marion?"

"Yes, please." Marion glanced at Pat. "What timeshall we collect you on Friday?" Still in that lifeless voice;,Pat noticed.

"My father leaves early to catch the express to London,but I shall hang on to help Mrs. Moss to clean thehouse. . . ."

The telephone rang in the hall. Marion nodded towardsthe door. "Will you answer it. Pat?"

The telephone table was to the left of the staircase andsome way from the drawing-room. Pat lifted the receivesand sank down on the damask-covered stool.

"Craigwood," she announced automatically. "Is that you, Patricia?" She pushed back her hair with an unsteady hand. 'Yegg

Simon." "Wouldn't it be wonderful," he said mockingly, "if w®

knew each other's thoughts as quickly as we know eachother's tones?"

"It might be dull. Do you wish to speak to Marion?" "It isn't necessary. I rang up to let you know that I may

be a bit late. I thought it would be a good idea to getyour father up to dinner. Ralph will fetch him."

157

"My father's busy. You don't have to bother about as,Simon. I'm sure you have enough to worry you."

"That," he said, with an inflection which broughtglinting green eyes before her vision, "sounds dangerouslylike one of those remarks which start fires, but I refuseto rise to it over the telephone. I'll be there as soon as Ican."

She was driven by a treacherous impulse to put a ques-tion: "Where are you?"

An almost imperceptible pause. "At Exeter — I had tomeet a man here."

She felt as he uttered the words that it was a lie. Hewas at Dolbridge, but so heartily sick of his actions being 'queried that it was less trouble to prevaricate than to tellthe truth. Pat felt a clamminess in fhe palms of her handsand at her temples, and an anguish filled her throat. Herfingers tightened round the receiver.

"Are you there, Pat?" he demanded peremptorily. Unevenly, she replied, I'm going home now — and^

please don't come to the cottage again. I'll make my ownarrangements with Marion."

"Pat, don't be a damned idiot. I'm coming right away.You only have to wait for a bit. . . ."

"Leave me alone, Simon," she almost choked. "Do mea kindness — and leave me alone!"

Before he could reply to that she had dropped thereceiver into place. She stood very still, suffering thetorture of trying not to cry, and in a moment or two theworst of the nightmare had passed and she was able togo into the drawing-room.

"It was Simon," she said. "He'll be a little late." "Well, never mind." Aunt Alison's cheerfulness had a

spurious lustre. "It's nice that he remembered to telephone.He doesn't always."

Marion looked up from sipping her drink. "Before youwent out we were trying to decide what time to pick you upon Friday."

Pat felt better now; horribly empty, but less likely tobreak into tears. "When will you meed me to do somemore work?"

"We're deaf now. Anything else that: tarns op ea®remain over till the middle of next -week."

"In that case, I'll come along next Tuesday or Wednes°day. If you should need me before then, send Edna. Sheloves a jaunt to the village."

"But you don't want to be at the cottage alone, Patf °Tes, I do," she said baldly. There was a long silence filled by the measured tide ©f

me Empire dock on the mantelpiece. Pat had never pre-viously noticed it, even when she had been alone in theroom. No protestations followed the silence; even AuntAlison only smiled sorrowfully, as if acknowledging thatanything could happen on a day like this;, with Charlottelaid up. \

"You really mean to stay on at the cottage — not to goaway?" Marion asked quietly.

"It needs a spring-clean and my father's anxious aboutme garden. We haven't been able to do much outdoorsbecause of the rain."

"I don't like your being there alone." '"I'll be safe enough. There hasn't beeo a crime iffl

Manbury for ten years. If it's all right with you, I'll gonow."

"Walking?" Til take you," offered Ralph. "Have your drinfe while

I get the car out." It was all very stilted and polite, with not a single

objection raised once they had accepted the fact that shewanted to be alone at the cottage. Pat said good-bye toAunt Alison and Marion, took her place in Ralph's smallbut comfortable car and felt, as they moved smoothlyaway, as if she were leaving the most vital part of herselfbehind. Two willow-wrens were perching on one of thepillars when they reached the gates, and with a flick of thewings they were off towards their nests near the river.In the hedges foxgloves still bloomed among cowparsley, and the acorns which drooped over the lanewere fat and as green as the leaves among which they grew. Growth, and the blue-grey sky overhead; ths

"So you've bought a car," Pat commented, for some-thing to say. "It's a very nice one. I suppose you' won'S630 sailing a ketch through Polynesia, after all." i

"I may yet, if I can't settle back into a London dub." "What about the house yon were going to buy at

Marlsea?" "Oh, that," he said. "What would I find to do at

Marlsea?" "For a start you could build little boats, and after that

you could build bigger ones." "Not a bad idea. I'M thing it mes" "Seriously?" He gave her a brief, sideways smile. "Yes, seriously.

It never occurred to me before, but I believe that's whatS'd like to do more than anything."

"I'm sure it is. You know so muds about boats. Marlseais a good spot for it, too."

'The Sussex coast might be better, and trade would begood round there."

Pat differed from him, and the point was still un- \decided when he pulled up at the cottage. As she madeto get out of the car he held out a hand.

"This is good-bye. Pat. I go to London in me mom-ing."

She met his steady gaze and the exdamation which roseto her lips was stilled. "Do you? Good-bye, then." '

"We'll do another concert when the season starts."'

• "Yes, I'd love that." Their hands parted, he reversed the car and was gone.

Pat was conscious of the long day dying, and of thesadness and despair imprisoned within her. She knew asharp need that was pain, the sting of withheld tears.Then' came her father's affectionate tones;

"All right, Pat?" "Of course," she returned at, once. "The weather's

improving, espedally for you."

CTJA'DT'TGTR1 ©T'^^IDTS T^T JrlArAilK SiAlJnCr'jr

PAT was up at down oa Friday to speed her father aad Hugh Dyson on their way to the Lakes. She had said nothing about staying on at the cottage, not from a fear that her father would be against it but because he would naturally assume that all was not well between his daughter and the Leighs.

He ate a light breakfast, shouldered his mcksadk and took firm hold of his suitcase. Pat walked with him to the station, along the 'deserted main street and down the short cut between the wheat-fields. The newly-risen sun was benign over the land, the birds already noisy with summer bliss.

She wished with unbearable intensity that she were going with him, that the two of them might dimb the mountains and gaze from above with awe upon those magnificent cradled lakes, and, at the end of each day, find themselves spent and full of sleep.

Hugh was on the tiny platform, his two pieces of luggage propped one against the other while he smoked a cigarette. He smiled, and in the morning light he looked brown and boyish and healthy, the misery sensibly put behind him. There was nothing wrong with Hugh, thought Pat. Considering everything, he had behaved naturally and even with a certain amount of charm, and certainly he had not lacked dignity. He didn't make hes feel a beast any longer.

The train was on time and stopped only for a fewminutes. Hugh shook Pat's hand, her father kissed her,

"You'll hear from me soon. Don't lose that list of outstopping places, and wire if you're im any sort ofdifficulty."

"I will. Eat lots of good food." A few more trite observations, the shrill blast from a

whistle, and the train moved out. Pat went home the wayshe had come, but now the main street was stirring, anddogs, let out after a night in kennels and under kitcheatables, barked joyfully with the sheer zest of living.

Mrs. Moss arrived at the cottage at nine o'clock. Shewas a soothing companion, full of homely sayings and bits of advice. She was not noticeably a hard worker, but in the course of that day the two bedrooms were thoroughlydeaned, the curtains washed and ironed, and the two dowa° i stairs rooms cleared for tomorrow's action.

"This being the holiday week-end, I'm taking the children to my sister's for three days," the woman said comfortably. "We don't go till tomorrow afternoon. Will you be needing me next week?"

Pat hadn't realized that it was the August week-end. As though recalling something from a dream she thought of this time last year, when she had spent much time with Roy, at picnics and the races, and dining and dandng at an hotel. Gaiety and Roy were inseparable.

"My father's vacation is yours, too," she said. "Come- in again a day or so before he's due back."

"What about the key? I mostly keep it." "If I return to Craigwood I'll let you have it." "If", not "when". It seemed impossible that she could

ever again live in Simon's house. While Mrs. Moss polished and scrubbed on Saturday

morning. Pat went out to buy cream paint, two large tins of it, and some brushes. She v/ould freshen up all the woodwork in her father's bedroom. It ought to have been done before the cleaning but with care there would be little mess, and in any case she could mop up as she went along. If it kept dry for a spell she would also be able to put in some hours on the garden. Time never dragged when there was always another job just ahead.

It was a fine, still day without being too hot. The cottages, amber and agate in the sunshine, were brushed over in places with the sage-green of lichen, the gardens were crowded with fuchsias, dwarf dahlias and roses, and glimpsed between walls were haystacks sheltering under beeches and oaks, and orchards growing with fruit. The church spire pointed up from the elms, immutable, up» right and reassuring.

There was the smell of baking bread, the slumbrous, murmur of bees, the call of the wood-pigeon, and the homely burr of muted chatter.

At one 0'dods Mis. Moss roISed ap her house shoes in her apron and went off to her home. Pat ate sliced tomato and some lettuce and drank two cups of coffee. Too restless to read, she ran up to her father's room, and calculated all that could be done to improve it It was no use; she had to get busy.

She put on a pale green flowered overall, found a bottle of turpentine and some dean pieces of old sheeting, looked around in the shed for some fine sandpaper. She was halfway back to the door when a cyde bell pinged fiercely at the front gate, and Edna waved frantically from &e road.

"Can I bring the bike to the shed, Miss Gordon?" "Yes, if you want to." Pat remained on the pam,

mystified but, in spite of herself, relieved to see the girl's round young figure advancing towards her. "Have you brought a message from Mrs. Leigh?"

Edna giggled. "I'm the message. You're not to be allowed to stay in me cottage alone. I've got to keep yoa company."

"How nice. By whose orders?'8 "Mr. Leigh's. There's been a fuss np at the house. It

seems he told Mrs. Leigh I was to come yesterday and she took no notice. The minute he saw me this morning he asked what the devil I was doing at Craigwood. You should have heard him! Everyone's fed up and Admiral Sedgwick's gone. Honest, I was glad to get away."

The bicycle was locked up and Edna, carrying a small ease, followed Pat into the kitchen. The girl's eyes glanced appreciatively at the dean, homely room, the blowing muslin curtains.

"This is going to be fun. Miss Gordon. For a start shall I brew a cup of tea?"

- "Suits me," said Pat. "Make it tea for two and bring it up to the front bedroom."

Upstairs again, she stood by the window gazing down at the garden. Having Edna here eased the tautness inside her but it also naged like a nerve pain. If Simon would stop being thoughtful, if his steeliness were utter and complete, she could hate him.

Edna was singing away downstairs in her sweet, on- teamed voice. The song was a new one on the oldest theme

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of all. Pat drew back from the window and resolutelytagged the cork from the bottle of turpentine. The nextfew days were planned, and beyond them she refused tolook

Edna tamed out to be quite good with a paint brush.While Pat did the door, picture rail and skirting board,she tackled the window-frames because, as she artlesslyconfessed, she liked to watch the passers-by and the neigh-bors. If the least thing was happening outside she kept upa commentary.

"There goes the assistant from the drapes. All dressedup, she is, and got a boy friend with her — seem to knowhim from somewhere. My! You should see those little ripsnext door — they must' be playing aeroplanes., The girl'spretty, isn't she? I'd rather have girls than boys — mymother says they're easier to rear and more amenable.That's a good-looking man who lives the other side, isn'tit? Is the redhead his sister or his wife? You don't say!They can't have been married long. There's a dog amongthe delphiniums. Shall I shoo him out?"

And so on. In the intervals when events beyond thewindow were at a standstill, Edna plunged into descrip-tions of her family; and friends in London. Though shewore no watch, she was infallibly aware of the time formorning coffee, lunch or afternoon tea, and she lookeddisgmnted if Pat decided to eat in the kitchen. She muchpreferred to serve a meal for one in the dining-room, andread a magazine while eating her own share near thekitchen window.

Pat slept in her father's bedroom with door and windowswide, and Edna had the other room. From habit the girlrose at six each morning, and she would have been hurtif Pat had not remained in bed for early tea. Pat heardher jesting with the milkman and calling "Good morning!"to people passing up the road. The inevitable trillingaccompanied the cooking of breakfast, and a few freshflowers always adorned the dining-table.

They were not working all the time. There were walksap to the school and through the grounds, saunters along

the village bank of the river, and a bus ride dmm to tesea. Pat bathed, but Edna distrusted the rollers.

"I'll never understand what folks see in throwing mem°selves about in cold water," she said. "I like dipping mytoes — it cools you down — but that horrible coldness allover you!" She shuddered, and let the wavelets lap hesankles.

She was refreshing and without guile, she was as cage?as Pat that the garden should be made trim.

"Don't you push that mower," she protested. 'Til dothat. You tickle around with the soil."

"I've cut this grass dozens of rimes." "But I don't care to see you do it. Yon don't look right

behind that thing. You attend to the borders, Miss PafcI'm just as likely to pull out a flower as a weed."

On Tuesday she cyded up to Craigwood and broughiback a letter from Mr. Gordon for Pat. She hadn't seenany of the "family". Parker had given her the letter andtold her the house was "sombre, very sombre". He had evendarkly hinted that had his wife not been afBicted withchronic rheumatism, and had he himself been a youngeeman, he might have tried to get a different sort of pos£altogether. He detested Mansell.

Pat went to the garden seat and opened her letter. Heefather had moved on from Keswick to Grasmere and, sut°prisingly, he and Hugh had parted company.

Dyson's too lazy to dumb (he wrote), so he's arranged to stay at a farm for the rest of the month and paint scenes more or less from the doorstep; there happens to be a nice daughter there, so he should be happy. I'm not sorry; I'm of an age to want to please myself. It's astonishing how easily one picks np conn° panions in these spots — I haven't yet opened one of those heavy volumes I brought with me, and S promised myself a good read every night. I'm writing as if I've been here for months instead of a couple of days, but the timelessness of this district has that effect. Tomorrow, with a couple of men who are residents here, I'm hoping to have a go at Helm Crag. The weather is dry but doudy . . o

There was me usual affectionate ending and a reminderthat she must write regularly.

Pat slipped the letter into her pocket and got on withthe gardening. It was strange, she reflected, how almostemy person one met along the byways of life had someparticular, if tiny, significance. If Hugh had not been im-portunate she might now be enjoying the peace of the LakeDistrict with her father, but then she would never haveknown the best about Edna. Even Ralph Sedgwick of thegrizzled hair, and skin whipped into creases by sea winds,had subtly influenced her thoughts, because he was able tosee Craigwood as mere stone walls amid fair acres. Severaltimes since speaking with him last Wednesday she hadrecalled his disturbing pronouncement.

Had she and Marion been wrong to attribute so muchpower to Craigwood? Was it foolish to feel that thegenerations of Leighs had built something of themselvesinto the house — not the old furnishings and, pictures, butsomething intangible, beautiful and imperishable? Pat couldnot relinquish a partide of her love for the place, but ithad received a jolt, because she had thought that every-oae who lived mere must come to feel the same. It hadnothing to do with personal happiness, that feeling. Onecould be desperately unhappy and completely without hope— as she was in the darkness of the small hoars — ye£still experience me pull of Craigwcod.

The next day she walked to Craigwocd, leaving Ednabehind. She hesitated where the path ran up through thewoods, but passed on. She had no wish to remember toodearly the day she had been caught there by rain and metby Simon. Nor, perhaps, would it be wise to arrive un°conventionally from the garden.

But it wouldn't have mattered, for when she did reach&e front drive no one was in sight. The house, drenchedin sunshine, was dim, cool and noiseless inside. Pat madeher way to the larger of the kitchens and found Parkerthere, cleaning the silver. He was polite but unable t®smile.

"They're all out. Miss Gordon. Mrs. Leigh thought yoamight come, and she said I was to tell you she hoped to>be home to lunch. Ms, Leigh has taken Mrs. Cunfiffe toDolbridge.'"

due back?"

"Late this afternoon, I think. Mrs. Cunliffe was very(Exdted."

Pat said, "When Mrs. Leigh returns I'll be in the office,Parker."

Until she was actually standing at the desk in the officePat held herself rigid. Then, slowly, she subsided into aehair and bent her face into her hands. Aunt Alison depart-ing excitedly with Simon for Dolbridge could mean onlyone thing. Pat did not dwell on that one thing, but shedid yield for a few minutes to the flood of anguish.

Presently she straightened and slit the envelopes whichhad accumulated in the mail basket. None of the letterscalled for a complicated reply, and she was able to handlethem at once. The work took her less than an hour.

The task finished, she paused, extracted a sheet of papeefrom the drawer and began to write

DEAR MAKIOM, All the correspondence has bees <3ea!t with. May I

have a talk with you some time tomorrow, preferably down at the cottage? Ifs a private mattes.

•PAT aAJlo

It -was saappy, but: Pat fe!t toe ragged to rise to anythingbetter. She addressed an envelope, sealed the note withinit and placed it on top of the typewriter. Then, quickly,she ran upstairs to the bedroom she had occupied and thrustmost of what she had left there into her trunk. Edna couldcome up and arrange with Parker to have it sent to the

cottage. Pat went from the house decisively, without taming

her head. Craigwood was behind her, lopped off like alimb. There was nothing to be wretched about; she hadknown for a long time it would have to come to this. Ithurt; of course it hurt. Losing part of oneself always did.But she was grown up and possessed of a certain amountof wisdom. There were other things in the world besidesmellow houses; me world was crammed with lovely

She saw how stupid it was to slip into a rat where oneset of people were all-important. She had imagined herselffortunate to be taken up by Marion, had even known aglow of pride in the growing fondness of Aunt Alison.The only person about whom she had never entertainedthe smallest illusion was Simon,

Her brain was anything but clear, and she was breathlessfrom fast walking. She came to the almost empty mainstreet and dropped the letters into the post-box, tamedback to the kerb and found -the burgundy car drawn upand Simon geting out of it. There was no sign of AuntAlison,

He came round to the pavement, his aquiline featuresbetraying no emotion of any kind.

"Good morning," he said. "Can I give you a lift, ordo you still wish to be left alone?"

"I'd rather walk," she managed. "It isn't far." "I understood you were going to Craigwood today." "I've just been. There wasn't much to do." "Am I the reason you've hurried away?" She shook her head, not looking at him. "I was told you

weren't expected back till late this afternoon." "Well, you intended to be gone before then, I'm sure.

If you should feel an urge to see Marion or to pamper Aunt Alison during the next day or two you needn't be afraid of my being in your way. I'm going up to town in the morning."

"I see," she said stiffly. "I'll remember that.'8 His glance was keen, his tone sharp. "Have you been

dying?" "Good Lord, no," she answered swiftly. "I've nothing

to cry about." "And if you had you're hardly likely-to confide in m'e!"

he crisply finished for her. "Come and sit in the car. I've • a few things to say to you."

She knew a moment of unbearable temptation. Why deny herself this offer of brief intimacy? But, no! her rocking sanity warned her. She had keyed \ herself to renounce the Leighs, and to slide back now would be fatal. ' ' ;• • •

Simon' was angry with her, coldly, viciously angry — because she 'had made it plain that she wanted him to

ignore her existence. Maybe mat was best. If they spoketogether reasonably till the anger cooled he would becomemocking and teasing and intolerably dear. She would haveit all to go through again.

As if accepting her silence for consent he raised a handto grasp her 'arm, but before he could touch her she hadjerked away.

"We've nothing to discuss, Simon. And please excuseme now. I have to go to the post office."

His teeth snapped. "I've had about enough of mis. Getin the car!"

"You've had enough," she blazed at him. "You've stoodiiofchmg at all from me ... nothing. But I've had to putup with malice and cynicism and anything else you caredto hand out! You've been good to me occasionally, I'lladmit that, but since . . ." She broke off, white-faced andquivering, but before he could insert a word, exdaimed,"I'm sick of it, Simon. I'm tired to death of having tobrace myself every time we meet. Even living at the cottageI'm never free of the fear of running into you."

"Fear!" he echoed harshly. "Can't you understand?" Her voice rose and aadced,

but because she saw someone come out of a nearby shopshe strove to lower it. "I don't want to see you. If it werepossible I'd never see you again!"

"That dears the air, at any rate," he said with uncannyquietness. "Fear is pretty close to hate. All right" — on asudden, savage note — "you cam stop being frightened.Nice to have known you. Pat."

He swung away and so did she. Blindly she hastenedalong to the post office and bought some stamps. When shecame out into the sunshine the street was emptier than ever,the big car gone.

It was impossible to settle to household tasks daring tfaerest of that day, and Edna's cheerful chatter teased thenerves. Pat wrote to her father, but each penned wordseemed to have no connection with the rest, because allthe while her mind reiterated one thought. She had cometo a, dead end.

Sleep was elusive that night. Some time after midnightshe got out of bed and looked at the black starry sky, seek.ing the assurance that there would be something worthliving for in the days to come. She remembered her fathersaying that even the bitterest losses have their compensa-tions; he had been referring, she knew, to her mother'sdeath and the bond it had forged between the two whowere left. But what, she wondered bleakly, could evercompensate for unrequited love? How did one set aboutthe impossible task of forgetting? It was all too painfully

fresh. Marion came just after ten next morning, driving the

shabby two-seater which belonged to Craigwood but was recognized as Mansell's. Edna saw her from the lounge

window. "Here's Mrs. Leigh," she said. "I'll do the dining-room

and get on with some jobs in the kitchen. Will you wan^

coffee?" "I'll let yon know." Her pulses knocking,' Pat went to the door and opened ifc

Marion came down the path, slender and beautiful mpurple- brown tweeds and a beige silk shirt.

She smiled. "Good morning, my dear. I haven't beenhere since last Easter. What a wonderful garden showyour father always contrives."

The moment of meeting was over without any of theawkwardness Pat had anticipated. She ought to have knownthat she could rely on Marion to set an ordinary, dignifiedtone. She saw the other woman seated in an armchair andherself sat in one corner of the chesterfield. Leaningforward over the table which stood between them, sheopened the lid of a carved wooden box of dgarettes. Mariontook one and struck a match. Pat kept her own cigarette ifflher fingers, unlighted. Constraint and a queer nervousnessstill kept her taut. She had never before experienced any-thing like this with Marion.

"I got your note," said Marion companionably. "A pityyou didn't hang on at Craigwood — I did get back to

lunch." Pat needlessly smoothed the cigarette. 'There wasn't

much mail — you could have dealt with ifc yourself. I

17(1

guessed you'd only left it for me so that I shouldn't feel superfluous."

"That isn't true at all," came the warm retort. "You have all the stuff at your fingertips."' "An hour's work, in one week."

"Does that matter? We'll be tearingly busy when we so back to town. Last year we had just the .two weeks' holiday, but this year we're rewarding ourselves with longer, though I daresay we'll make up for it. There's all the organizing to be done in connection with the new cottage hospital, and you know I've' been asked to 'accept the chairmanship.of the orthopaedic clinic. Next winter you'll have too much work." She bent forward. "Is that why you asked me to come here — to tell me that you're dissatisfied with having so little to do?"

"Not really." Pafs innate honesty compelled candor. "I ... I want to resign, Marion. I'm ungrateful and per-

'haps childish, but I can't go on being your secretary. While you're at Craigwood you can do without one, and when you go back to Cumberland Square I'll gladly help my successor till she's conversant with everything."

"I see." Patently, Marion did not quite see. She lay back, thinking. "How long have you been mulling over this?"

"Since I came to the cottage nearly three weeks ago." "It must be fairly ingrained. You might have mentioned

it then." "I was anxious not to do anything hurtful, and besides;,

I wasn't really certain." "But you're quite convinced now that you want nothing

more to do with Craigwood?" "I didn't say that." "It's not far wrong, though, is ft?" Marion knocked a

cylinder of ash into the beaten metal ashtray. A shadow crossed her face. "We ail seem to be in a fearful muddle, but it's bound to straighten out. Don't do anything rash, Pat. Cutting yourself off from the thing that hurts isn't always the right step. In any case, you and I have no quarrel, and we used to be very happy working together."

•-But even Marion did not sound too certain that they would recapture the old serenity. An undertone of weariness flattened her voice. "It might be wisest," she went on, "for

you to get away from Manbury. Couldn't yon Join your father and stay with him till the end of August?"

Rather hollowly, Pat said, "That's my intention. On Saturday I'm going to Kendal, and I shall meet him at Coniston on Sunday. At the end of the month I'll go to London to fix up a new job."

"Will you promise that you'll contact me before going'to London?"

"I'll write to you." To fill a gap in the conversation which might have

become embarrassing, Pat lit the cigarette. As she raised her head the daylight shone sharply across her face, showing it pale and braised-looking under the eyes. The eyes them- selves were stricken, the lights gone out of them, and in repose her features were thinner. Inwardly, Marion sighed.Not only was it thoroughly depressing to see Pat incapable of laughter, but she also felt that the blame for it attachedto herself. She ought to have foreseen this weeks ago and taken immediate steps to forestall it. The fact was, it had been so pleasant when the four of them and Aunt Alisonhad been together that a tragic outcome had appeared im-possible. Pat was young, she had never had to bear this type of suffering before, and she was taking it hard.

"Aunt Alison sent her love," she said. "I wouldn't lether come with me, but she told. me to bring you back fosthe week-end."

Pat made no other answer than a shake of the head. "There'd be just we three," pursued Marion. "Simon's

gone to town." "I know," said Pat evenly. "I saw him yesterday." "You did?" A kindling was audible in Marion's voice.

"Did he tell you that the Bristows left by boat for theRiviera the day before yesterday?"

"Max and Elise — together?" ""That's all I know — just that — but I suspect Simon

had something to do with it. I always said he wouldn'tmarry her if she were free, and I rather think he tookgood care to see that she didn't get free. She's spoiledhim for other women, of course, but Aunt Alison and Iare becoming recondled to that. He's sure to marry, intime."

"Didn't they go to Dolbridge yesterday — Mrs. Cun°liffe and Simon?"

"There was an auction of the furniture. Aunt Alisonwas keen to buy a couple of crystal lamps she hadadmired in the house as ajgirl. Simon took her there andpicked her up later. She came home dead-beat butvictorious."

An auction! Pat recalled her own hysterical explana"tion of the visit. She asked no more questions. She knewa sensation of relief at hearing that Max and Elise weregone, but fundamentally nothing was altered; Elise wasstill the nearest Simon could get to his ideal of woman-hood. Well, he could have his ideal, carry it around anduse it as a yardstick for every woman he met. She'dpity the one he made his wife, could imagine nothingmore shattering than loving a man who held the imageof someone else in his heart.

"Won't you come. Pat?" She shook off the doying reflections. 'To Craigwood?

Thanks, but no. Tell Aunt Alison , . ." She stoppedabruptly. "Tell her what you think she'd like to hear. Ihope she won't be too disappointed in me. And you,Marion ..."

"My dear, you and I are closer at the moment than yonrealize." She pressed out her cigarette and stood up. "I'mafraid we rather sadden each other, so I'll be off. I'lllook for a line from you within the next couple ofweeks. Try to have a good time."

Pat went with her to the gate and suppressed an absurddry sob as Marion kissed her. The two-seater moved away,and to escape the feeling of being cold and abandoned,she returned to the house at once by the back way.

Edna greeted her with an injured frown. "I had thecoffee all ready and you didn't call."

"I forgot." "What will Mrs. Leigh think of us?" Edna's identification of herself with the cottage was

vaguely comforting. "She'll forgive us," Pat said. "I'llhave a cup now. You have one as well, and afterwardswe'll finish ,bff the garden. Tomorrow we're going out for

"Are we?" Edna glistened. 'To Exeter?08 "Would you prefer that to the moor?" "Rather! Dartmoor always reminds me of David Cop"

ferfietd" Pat smiled. "Yon mean Great Expectations, and you're

mixing the counties. Very well, let's make it Exeter. Aladylike binge, Edna."

That was how Pat got through the last day or so aithe cottage. She did the things that Edna proposed andpreended they were fun. They gazed in shop windows andwent to a dnema, found a restaurant which served supperto the accompaniment of a modest orchestra, and ran toa little light wine. Times of stress are always easier tolive through if one extends oneself to please another.Pat discovered that pleasing Edna eased her own tension,and she was glad of the opportunity to reward the girlfor her undemanding companionship.

When they arrived back at the cottage on Friday night,Pat's packing was still to be done. She had dedded totravel in a navy suit, and take only frocks, walking shoesand underwear, but however small the amount to bestowed away, Edna insisted on packing methodically andaeady.

"Like as not you'll land in some place where they useold-fashioned flat-irons," she said. "Hang your thingsas soon as you get there and these few creases will fallout in no time."

"I'm not making a trip into the wilderness."' "Sounds awfully wild to me," Edna commented. °Td

go nuts in those londy places. Give me Margate orBrighton. You know what, Miss Pat? The sort of holidayyou need isn't one of these tramping, dimbing affairs.You can do with building up. A grand rest and lots ofsunshine. They say it always rains in that district."

"I like the rain." "It gives me the blues, and I hate mud-splashes on my

stockings." She shrugged philosophically. "Takes all sorts,doesn't it? You like- rain, and reading dry books and listening to plays and concerts on the radio, and I'm just the opposite. I suppose it's the difference in education,but I'm not really envious of anyone else."

"You certainly shouldn't be," Pat assured her sincerely."You have a natural gaiety, which is a priceless assetnowadays. You've helped me immensely this week; Idon't knov/ what I'd have done without you."

Edna's round, lively face shone with pleasure. "I seemto have had a high old time myself," she admittedhonestly. "Shall we have a cup of tea?"

"A cup of tea" was Edna's invariable method of escapefrom shy moments. Though it was after eleven she setthe kettle to boil and prepared a snack.

Much later, when Pat went to bed, she steeled herselfagainst the pain which always came with darkness andlonliness. But the day had been long and tiring, andalready it was Saturday morning. She slipped quitequickly over the rim into sleep.

Once she was dressed next morning all she had to dowas eat some breakfast and catch her train. Edna was tostay on at the cottage and tidy up, after which she wouldmake a parcel of the laundry and carry it along to Mrs.Moss, to whom she would also hand over the key.

Pat had not chosen to follow the route taken by herfather. She wished to reach Kendal in the least possibletime, and to arrive there while it was still light. She hadnot bothered to book a room at one of the hotels; Mr.Gordon had said you could always get in somewhere and,truth to tell. Pat was in a mood hardly to care if shedidn't. But it was safer to get there in daylight, and withthis in mind she had talked at some length with a clerkat Exeter station and determined to make use of his

advice. At a quarter to seven that morning she was speeding

away in the early bus to Exeter, and at half-past the fast train pulled out for the north.

The day of travelling was endless and exhausting. As the miles widened between herself and Manbury, Pat felt an ever-deepening ache of loss. The country through which she passed was strange, and as the south-west was left behind so were the blue skies. For Pat, every scrap of light and beauty was concentrated in that small corner of England; she dared not let her thoughts linger upon the -

175

possibility that it might be many months before she saw i£again.

There was time for a quick lunch when she changedtrains, but she had no appetite. She bought a couple ofmagazines and got into the corner seat which a porter hadobligingly snaffled for her, in a much more crowded trainthan the first.

The second part of the Journey was nightmarish. Thecarriage was crammed, the atmosphere, grey with smoke,and fitful sunshine beating in upon Pat's head added to hersensation of nauseau. It was no use telling herself nowthat she should have eaten. Reflecting that her mite ofsmoke could make little difference, she put on a cigaretteand, shrinking further into her corner, she tried to read.

It was a half-empty train that steamed into Kendalshortly after seven that evening. Most of those alightingwere holiday-makers in old tweeds and raincoats, withstudded boots attached to their grips and rucksacks.

Pat came stiffly from the station into a soft drizzle. Thesky was a dark dove grey, and though it was not particularlycold, the air, to one who had existed for twelve hours onhalf a dozen of Edna's biscuits, was decidedly bleak.

Pat had no idea where she was walking. There was notaxi, no sign of a policeman, but she was unconsciouslykeeping dose behind a group of two men and two womenwho were obviously making for a hotel. By the time theyslowed down and entered the wide doorway of a timberedbuilding, her case was beginning to drag as if it con-tained lead.

It was a small hotel, comfortingly old and rather shabbilyfurnished in leather and mahogany, but the entrance loungewas cheerfully lit by many wrought-iron wall-backet lamps.A few people sat about, most of them youngish men whohad the dean, rugged look of students on holiday.

Pat thankfully dropped her case to the floor. She hearda male member of the four she had followed say breezily,"Well, here we are again. This place hasn't changed sinceI first came here, thirty years ago. Wait while I find outour room numbers from the old boy."

Pat abandoned her case and, without ostentation, walkedafter the man across the lounge to the small, windowed

sanctum with a counter, which was apparently the receptiondesk. She lingered a yard or two away, and as soon asher unwitting guide had acepted his keys and moved off,she approached the old man and made known her needs.

He regarded her with kind disapproval over the topsof his half-glasses. "You're very foolish to come so farwithout booking a room first. Don't you realize that this isour busiest month? Supposing I had to tarn you away.What would you do then?"

Pat let out a breath of relief. She forbore to mentionthat this was not the only hotel in Kendal. "So you cangive me a room?"

"Only through someone else's misfortune. A family ',which were to have arrived this afternoon cancelled theirbooking because of a car breakdown. They telegraphedthat they couldn't get here till Monday. You can haveone of their rooms — they'd booked three."

"Thanks so much." "Are you alone?" he queried, his glance inquisitive. "Yes, but I'm meeting my father tomorrow at Coniston." This' information seemed to infuse the situation with

normality. Pat signed the register, took her key and wasgiven a countrified page-boy to carry her case and lead herup the turkey-red carpeted winding stairs to a dim little bedroom overlooking the wet street.

The scene from the window was depressing. The unseenhills were near and doubtless shrouded in the soft predpi- tation of rain which was common in this district. There were no trees in sight, nor did it look as if it would ever be dry again.

Her father was travelling by road from Grasmere to Coniston today. He would be there by now, in the little guest house, and tomorrow she would be with him. Miserably, she wished there were some way of reaching him tonight. She felt so tired and lonely, so utterly dis° pirited.

Slackly, she switched on the light and shut out the sombre twilight by tagging at the faded cretonne curtains. She washed, and changed her damp suit for a green dress. She read a notice on the door which said that dinner was served between the hours of six-thirty and eight-thirty. Foe

a few seconds she toyed with a desire to ask for soup andtoast to be brought to the room . . . but only for a fewseconds. The place would be understaffed, and she waslucky to be here. Better not to try one's good fortune toofar.

So she ventured down those wide but twisting stairs, andeventually found a fine, beamed dining-room where logsflamed in a hube brick fireplace and the tables were setround it in a semi-drde. Pat was given a table to herselfand from where she sat she could see the copper pansand plates on the mantelpiece winking in the glow, aridSpode plates and jugs all round the wall on a high shelf.

Warmth was all about her, yet she could not throw offher own coldness. She was chilled to the very centre of herheart. She tried some soup; it was excellent, but perhapsshe was too weary to appredate it. The trout had beeasuperbly baked, but she took no more than a mouthful.

Pat was annoyed with herself. It was unfair to let themgo on serving delectable food which it was an effort for hereven to taste. Maybe one of the men who were eatingwith such gusto would be deprived, through her, of asecond helping.

She was on the point of telling the waitress that shewould have only coffee, when her attention was drawn bymen's voices to the doorway which led to the lounge. Theold man of the reception desk was there, looking her way,smiling and gesticulating.

Pat stared, her heart made a suffocating leap into herdiroat. The dining-room whirled around her. She sawvivid copper pans spinning with the blue and white of theSpode, the white tabledoths mixed up with the beamedceiling.

Then everything righted itself. The other man, m astormproof but hatless, his face grim and set, was now making his way purposefully towards her. Yes, it was Simono

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE suddennes of it was too much. Pat leant her elbow onthe table and clasped her brow with cold, shaking fingers.She was conscious that his coat had been thrown over theback of a vacant chair, and that he was sitting opposite, butshe was not yet able to raise her head.

She thought, "He'll say something hard and sarcasticsoon, and then I shall have the courage to confront him."But Simon said nothing, and the waitress was too busyelsewhere to come to the rescue. And one couldn't sitinterminably nursing one's forehead, hoping for deliver-

ance. Pat lowered her hand, looked no higher than the straight

mouth and said, with a ghastly attempt at flippancy, "Youget around, don't you?"

"You don't have to be jolly," he said. "Not for me,anyway. We're not pretending any more, Pat."

She had to let this pass. "How did you know where tofind me?"

"Marion told me you'd gone to Kendal, and you happento be staying at the third hotel I tried."

His quietness made her lift her glance for an instant.She saw his face, paler than she had ever seen it before,his eyes very green and intent, and that set, bitter look athis mouth.

"Did you come by car?" she asked. "Yes. I got back to Craigwood about midnight last

night, after the others were in bed. At breakfast this mom-ing I mentioned that I was going to fetch you to spendthe day with us, and it came out that you'd left the cottagefor the Lake District."

"So you ... followed?" "That's right. Wherever you might have gone, I'd

have followed." This time Pat did not drag her glance from the green

eyes. She felt the sharp sting of tears, blinked away the

dancing stars aad swallowed on the hysteria which rosein her throat.

His hand dosed with bone-cracking ferocity over hers."For God's sake let's find somewhere we can be alone.There's always a private parlor in these places."

"The old man will think you're mad," she said weakly. But the hotel manager seemed to comprehend very well.

He showed them to his own sitting-room and assured themthey could have a meal there, if they wished.

Pat went to the fire. Though the blood drummed in herears and her pulses hammered, she was still cold. The roomwas small and cozy, but to her its stillness, its isolationfrom the rest of the hotel were frightening. She was tooexhausted for a scene of this kind.

Simon had gone silent again, and now she felt she wouldscream. The coals murmured together, a sudden gustbrought rain pitting against the window. His hand touchedher shoulder and she started violently.

"Simon, don't! "She twisted and found him near. "Weo „. we'll talk some other time."

"Oh, no, we won't, Patrida." His tone was crisp. "I'mwaiting for you to ask me why I came here."

"I know why you're here. To you distances are negli-gible, and you wouldn't allow them to deny you the pleas-ures of persecution. You've got too much time on yourhands."

He regarded her narrowly for a minute. "Will you answerme something truthfully?"

"What is it?" "Did Dyson invite you up here?" She answered at once. "No, he didn't." "Did you come to be with him?" "I came to join my father at Coniston. Hugh isn't with

ten now. They've parted." She jerked out a hand. "Didyou drive all the way from Craigwood to ask me that?"

"No," he said deliberately, watching her. "I came afteryou—for the most part at an illegal speed—to tell you thatI'm in love with you."

The breath left Pat's body. She went ashen to the lips.Then the stiffening inside her crumpled and the pain wasvisible in the quivering of her mouth.

"That's a... brutal sort of Joke."' "It's no joke, I can assure you," he said abruptly. Tve

lived with it for some time, and, believe me, it's no JokeF She was trembling. "But you can't be in love with me,

Simon. You'd have had to show it." "Would I? If that's true I can be pretty certain joi/f«

fflot in love with me." He paused to give her time to reply,but as she remained white and still he added, "Am I to takeit that you meant what you said the other day—about neverwanting to see me again?"

"I was upset." "But you ran away." "Simon," her eyes were large and pleading, "can't we

? lease leave this till tomorrow? We're both tired and I.. o m frightened." His whole demeanor changed. He took her hands and

held them dose together between his own. His voice wassoft. "Don't be scared, my sweet. Let me do the talkingfor a while. I love you. I think I loved you the first timeI saw you, so pretty and angry at the same time. I didn'twant to love you—I'll admit that—but it happened, and Bhad no alternative but to give in to it. I've always knownthat if I ever fell really hard for a woman I'd have ®stormy time of it because I'd expect a lot too much in theway of understanding. That's how it was, Pat."

"Was that really what made you come here?" shewhispered.

"Sit down," he said, "Just there in the armchair, sothat I can look at you." He leaned back upon the edge ofthe table. "I'll try to be ludd. Last Wednesday, if yoaremember, I was anxious to tell you a few things, but youwere equally keen not to hear them. I was going to makeyou come to Craigwood today and listen, whether you likedit or not. When Marion told me you'd travelled north £felt furious and bitter, but Ralph was there so I keptquiet."

"Ralph?" she said dazedly. His gesture was impatient, dismissive. "Tes, he was

there. I went upstairs to throw some things into a grip andMarion followed me. I told her to get out but she wouldn't,

She helped to pack the grip without saying a word, butwhen it was done, she said, 'Be kind to her, Simon. She'sjust as hurt as you are and it's been your fault, you know.So handle her gently.' That Was the first gleam of hope,but I'm afraid I told her to mind her own business."

There was a catch in her voice which might have hadits source either in laughter or in tears. "Oh, Simon—youdo treat people badly, those who love you."

"She didn't mind. She only laughed and said I was tobe sure and send a wire when to expect us. I'd like to havefelt as gay as she did."

"How... did you feel?" "Hellish," he answered grimly. '^My plans were knocked

cockeyed and I couldn't rid myself of the suspicion thatyou'd come here not so much to get away from me as tobe with Dyson."

"But how silly. "I've never cared a scrap for Hugh." He was bending over her, his face near hers, his hands

on the arms of her chair. "But you have cared for me,haven't you, Pat?" he demanded a little thickly. "Say youlove me. I know you're full of doubts but those can bedealt with later. Say you love me."

"I love you," she said tremulously. The next second she was tight in his arms, and he was

rubbing his cheek against her hair. Pat didn't believe it.This couldn't be Simon's jacket all rough along her chin,there weren't Simon's arms. This wasn't reality at all. Itwas one of those torturing dreams which presently wouldsplinter and leave her spent. His voice, too, was like thevoice in a dream: tender and coming from a long way off.

"Pat, what fools people are—and you're more of onethan I am. Couldn't you see that I loved you? Didn't youfeel it when you were ill with tonsillitis? It seemed to methen as if you must, because I was so worried that I wassure that what I was feeling must get through to you,though I tried very hard to be brotherly." He drew backhis head. "Now that I'm holding you at last, I don't thinkI can ever let you go."

He kissed her, gently, and then with an access of pas-sion. And it was then that Pat believed. For no one butSimon could have held and kissed her like that, melting

her heart, filling her with a delirious yearning to be allthe things he could ever desire in a woman. No one butSimon.

Presently his arms relaxed slightly. "Tve heard it stated,'"he said, "that it's the first pang of Jealousy which 'tells aman he's in love. I had that within ten minutes of meetingyou—so I must have fallen at first sight."

"You weren't Jealous of Roy?"

"I didn't know him, but I hated the thought of yourmaking yourself lovely for another man. If I could haveprevented you from spending the week-end in Kent, Iwould have."

"But, Simon"—she released herself and looked up afhim perplexedly, adoringly—"why didn't things move nor-mally? We did have Craigwood in common. You do loveQaigwood, don't you?"

"Not so much as you do." He smiled at her bewilder-ment. "I have a bond with the place, of course—evenwhen I was thousands of miles away and not too sure I'dever get back, is was home. But I've been a bit jealousof Craigwood, too. I didn't object to its being important toMarion, but I won't share you, or any part of you, withanything or anyone. In a way I wish we could let Marionhave Craigwood and start together in a new house. Howwould that please you?"

"I'd live anywhere," she said, "with you." "I don't believe you'd dare say anything different, but

it's a relief to hear it, because I can't get out ofgoing abroad during the last week in September. That wasthe object of my visit to town on Thursday—to try andget out of it—but it seems I'm committed to the first partof my job in the West Indies. They'll find someone elseto carry on later, but it will mean six or eight months'travelling. Can you face it?"

Her eyes shone. "Will you really take me?" "I won't go without you—that's another thing T-ve

hiown for a long time. We'll make it our honeymoon andget back to Craigwood next spring. Darling, you colorbeautifully," he said teasingly. "Was it the mention of ahoneymoon? Don't be apprehensive, my sweet. I'll neverhurt or frighten you again."

»83

The flush receded as swiftly as it had risen. Pat did notsmile. She tamed away, saw the snug but unfamiliar roomand felt uneasiness and fear clogging her breathing.

"Simon, I v/ish we could go out. There's such a lot Iwant to knov/ and this room is strange."

"And the darkness is friendly," he said. "I know howyou feel. But you'd get horribly wet." He came behind herand murmured, "What is it... Elise?"

She nodded dumbly.

"You know me ... and yet you're still worried aboutmat?"

"I didn't know you six years ago."

He took her shoulders and tamed her. "It's a longishstory. Come here, and try not to interrupt." He had hercomfortably in the circle of his arm before continuing,"When I first met Elise she was twenty and in rather a badway. She'd lost her parents and hadn't a penny, and shewas totally unfitted for any kind of work. She was con-vent-bred and was living with an aunt and uncle at thecoast, but she was frightfully unhappy and terrified of her .relatives. I know now that her terror and misery wereSymptoms of a mental state, but I wasn't aware of it then.She used to visit some people who lived near Dolbridge,and that's how I came to be acquainted with her. She wasthin and pretty and terribly nervy, but with me she usedto relax." His hand closed more firmly over her shoulder."Don't tighten up. Pat, there's a dear. I've never told thisto a soul before and I'm not enjoying the telling of it now,but you've a right to hear it. You do want the whole truth,don't you?"

"Please go on," came her muffled plea. "Good girl. Well . . . Elise was often a guest at Craig-

wood, and it wasn't long before rumors were going therounds. I didn't take them seriously because I hadn't anyintention of marrying Elise. ..."

"Is that true?" "Would I lie to you? Of course it's true." "But you loved her." . "No, I'd grown fond of her, which is somewhat differ-

ent. I pitied her because she couldn't stand up to life andI did try to save her a few knocks. Unfortunately, Marion

and my brother misunderstood the business, too, and inevi- tably Elise came to regard herself almost as one of thefamily. It became more and more obvious that she wasdepending on me, and I didn't like the situation. If Maxhad told me he was in love with her everything mighthave turned out differently, but he's not the talkative sortand he probably thought the same as the rest—that I wasgoing to marry her." He paused. "That's how things werewhen I was asked to take over in the Far East. I'd beenresting a few months and hoped my next job would benearer home, but I dedded to take it on. Elise was dis°tressed."

"Was she in love with you?'9 "She isn't capable of love as you and I know it, but

she craved to belong to a home like Craigwood and tohave money and good clothes. You couldn't blame her—she'd had a tough time and she isn't built to stand much.We had a bit of a scene over it, and after that I never sawher again till the night she came to dinner, a few weeksago."

"But everyone thought you'd proposed to her and beeoturned down."

"For your sake I'm sorry about that. Elise was nearlyhysterical, because it would look as if I'd left her flat, so Igave her permission to reverse the facts. It didn't matterto me then, and I didn't for a moment guess that all thiswould be resurrected six years after. You musn't place toomuch importance on that aspect of it, Pat. It served Elise'sSurpose and got her through a sticky patch with all flags ying—it isn't every woman who has the chance of refus-

ing a Leigh!" He gave a short laugh. "For me, wheneverI looked back on it, it was a thoroughly unpleasant ex-perience, but I blame myself for not seeing more dearlythat she was just a purring kitten longing for a silk cushionand a bowl of cream."

Pat laughed shakily. "I knew that the very first night £saw her."

"Women are seldom deceived about one another, arethey? You do see it all now, don't you?"

"There was nothing more than that?"'

"Nothing. When I heard she'd married Max BristowI had only sympathy for him. I knew he wouldn't have thesmallest notion of how to handle her." Pat stirred but hewould not let her go. "Then eventually I heard that Rich-ard died, and I found I hadn't any wish to come home. Ihadn't the least hankering to own Craigwood because Iwas pretty certain I'd never marry." His lips pressed netforehead. "Thus is man confounded!"

"If only I'd understood all this from the beginning!"

"How could you? We had to be in love first." After amoment he added, "I was given six months' leave and moreor less ordered back to England to give a first-hand report.I met you, and found myself thinking about you at alltimes of the day—and night, I must confess—and growingunsettled. Remember when I kissed you at the flat?"

"It was more like a blow than a kiss."

His tones held a smile. "I was angry and unreasonablebecause you believed all you'd heard and concluded I wasremaining away from Craigwood for sentimental reasons.There were other things, too; your friendship with youngBrandon—and even the fact that you'd agreed to go to aconcert with Ralph. I told myself that you were no differ-ent from other women, that if I hurt you, you'd go tearfuland cling." He sighed. "The day came when I'd havegiven anything if you had. You were horribly independent,

Pat." She moved slightly away from him and this time he let

his arms drop and stared down at her. "I wonder if you can possibly imagine how a man feels

when me woman he's falling in love with against his willis sought out by other men? It's a condition of perpetual

dull rage." "It sounds dreadful." "So it is. A boxful of roses from a chap in London who

calls you 'darling'. An artist who sketches you against abackground of sky and seagulls, and has the temerity topropose to you into the bargain. I knew neither of themmeant anything to you, but the mere knowledge of theirexistence tormented me. I hated them. I didn't like youmuch, either, the day I found you darning that fellow's

socks!" V.

"Poor Hugh. I hope he'll soon find a wife.'8

She had scarcely finished the sentence when there camea knock at the door. A rosy-faced waitress entered, carry-ing a tray.

"I was told to bring this," she said shyly. "The dining-room is dosed so there's only savouries and coffee. Themanager says will you be sure to sign the register, sir, but(here's no hurry."

Simon dealt with her diarmingly, and dosed the doorafter her departure. He came back to the table and liftedthe cover from a dish of hot sausage rolls and toast fingerstopped with mounds of egg and fish.

"I believe I'm hungry/'he said, "but we'll have somecoffee first. Come on, curl into a chair and try to look asthough this were the happiest day of your life."

He gave her the coffee and made her try some toast.Pat sensed that he was being careful and she thought sheknew why; he considered that she had had enough of Elisefor the time being. But though she found difficulty intalking, she did feel her courage oozing back. Simon hadnever really loved Elise, but he did love Pat. Yes, throbbedher pulses, he loved her. What else could have the leastsignificance beside that?

She looked at him, sitting in a chair dose to hers, sawthe strong hand holding the cup, the lean features andleaping eyes smiling at her as a man smiles at only onewoman. A delicious warmth swathed her heart, her lipsparted in wordless surrender.

As if she had spoken, he nodded. "I've been waitingfor that. Not scared any more, are you?"

"No, Simon. Tell me the rest so that we can forget it."

Til put it briefly." He reached for her cup and set iton the table with his own, and as he explained he got outdgarettes and bis lighter. "You were the sole reason Iinvited Elise to dinner at Craigwood. I was anxious youshould realize how very unimportant she was to you andme. When Max came back from Ireland I ran into himin the village, and he invited me over to inspect somehorses he'd bought." He lit both dgarettes and gave herone. "As I said before. Max was always one to keep fais

1ST

own counsel, but that day, maybe because I was acquaintedwith both him and Elise before their marriage, he openedup. He said they'd spent four winters apart and he couldn'tstand it if she left him again. He reminded me that I usedto be able to influence Elise, and he asked me to persuadeher that her place was at Dolbridge. I was appalled."

"What a state the poor man must have been in," saidPat with compassion. "I talked with him once; he's very

decent,"

"So decent that I agreed to help in any way I could. Iwent there a few times and never lost an opportunity ofshowing Elise bow lucky she was to have a home likeDolbride and a husband like Max. She never contradictedme and I think it would have worked if Max hadn't grownover-confident. Quite what happened between them I roodcare never to find out, but it must have been something ofan explosion. She telephoned Craigwood in tears one

day. . . ."

"The day you went to the Sheridan play at the school?"

"Your memory is as sharp in some directions as mine,Patricia. If you hadn't been ill I'd have explained to youabout it that evening after I got back. Well, she begged ,me to go to Dolbridge, and when I got there she was ina state of collapse and Max couldn't do a thing with her.We called a doctor, and that was the beginning of theend. He discovered that her heart isn't good—she has tolive a completely quiet life in a warm country."

For several minutes Pat was wordless. Then she said, "I :feel so sorry for Max. Having to sell up Dolbridge must ;have been a wrenching experience." ^

"He was like a man drugged, but he didn't hesitate. ,.There was one point on which he and I didn't see eye to '*eye. He wanted Elise to be kept ignorant of nearly every- ']thing, even of her own weakness. I tried to make him see •that they'd actually be happier together if she appreciated :'•just how much she owed him, but he wouldn't have it. I ^jgave him my word I'd tell her nothing, but I did use .^roundabout methods to ensure that she got to know. It.^jwas an exhausting and long-drawn-out procedure," ^

'.^i

"You're such a darling," Pat said softly, "and I thoughtyou were inhuman. One day I saw you and Elise outsidethe solicitor's office, and I had a ghastly presentimentthat she was getting a divorce."

"Were we in the car? We were probably waiting forMax. She didn't want a divorce. I rather mink that theways things have tamed out is best for them. Max can buya place and breed horses, and Elise will be careful not toexert or excite herself; in spite of everything she dings tolife. Max will fuss over her and in time her nerves willsettle. On the whole he'll be contented."

"It's sad, all the same. I do wish I'd known all thisbefore, Simon,"

"So do I," he said, "but somehow I couldn't get neagyou, and Marion and Aunt Alison were unwittingly obstruc-tive. I couldn't talk to them about the Bristows' business —not before they'd left for France, anyway — and there wasso much more I had to say to you before telling yoaabout it."

"Was that what you intended to say when you orderedme to get into the car last week?"

He nodded, and a hint of exasperation tinged his tone®,"You're a difficult wench. Now you can do a bit of explain-ing. Why .did you get so nasty the evening I telephoned yoaat Craigwood from Exeter?"

"Were you in Exeter? Ralph was sure you'd gone toDolbridge, and I was so sick of the name. You see, I alwaysthought it was Elise you went to see, not Max."

"You're crazy; sweet and crazy. So you decided 3 wasevading the truth. It's a fact that I wasn't too keen on yourfinding out how often I was visiting Dolbrodge, and I didgo there earlier that day. Then I drove on to Exeter to dosomething for Max. Pat" — he stopped for long enoughto make her realize that (he question was going to be ofsome importance — "when did you acknowledge to yourselfthat you were in love with me?"

Her flush this time was even prettier, for she smiled withit. "I'm not sure. I think it was the day you met me inthe wood when it rained, but I wasn't particularly upliftedabout it because that very morning I'd typed the invita-tion to Elise. Afterwards, I was horribly afraid you'dguess."

"You took good care I shouldn't, though I knew youwere as aware of me as I was of you. You used to feel mecome into the room — I've seen your back go rigid — butenmity rather than love seemed to be the cause of it." Hegot up and came to sit on the arm of her chair. His fingersnafflled the tawny curls. "Happy now?"

"So happy 2 could weep, but I won't What are Marionand Aunt Alison going to say?"

He made a sound of amusement. "They've probably saidit. already, having got what they wanted. I v/ouldn't mindbetting they've already drawn up a list of wedding guests.

"Oh, dear! Simon, what about my father?" "What about him? Are you afraid he'll object to me as

a, son-in-law?" She laughed shakily at the complete absurdity of such a

suggestion. "I mean, how can we tell him?" "We'll drive over to see him early tomorrow morning.

If we can manage to get accommodation we might staythere overnight and travel back to Craigwood on Monday.Would you like that?"

"It would be lovely." They were silent, contemplating the 'dying coals. The

rain was barely audible but an occasional spot hissed intothe fire and sent up a tiny cloud of ash. To Pat, the roomhad become familiar now, and unforgettable. In after yearsone of them might say, "Remember the inn parlor atKendal?" and both would be back there, among thepolished copper and brass, the faded cretonne, watchingthat ebbing fire. , .

Simon said, "I must tel! you about Ralph. Did you hear.Aat he and Marion had had a disagreement?"

"No, but I suspected something of the sort." She raisedher head, suddenly eager. "Are he and Marion going tobe married?"

"Steady, my pet. You've got marriage on the brain —but I daresay it will eventually come to that. Ralph, as youknow, went back to town, but before he left I persuadedhim to put up at the flat. He'd had a week alone when Iwent there last Thursday, and by that time he was willingto listen to reason- He isn't badly off; he was never spend-

thrift and he has a pension; he also seems to have an ambi« tion to start a boat-building venture." Pat smiled but mad® no comment. Simon went on." He discovered during a conversation with Marion that she's fairly well provided for, and apparently it was a shock. His modesty is so phenomenal that he couldn't imagine a good-looking woman with a large private income having the least interest in Ralph Sedgwick, so — to put it in his own words — he got out before things had gone too far."

"They'd make a marvellous couple!" "Maybe, but it's safer to keep quiet about it and let the

matter run its own course. I got him to return to Craigwoodby promising to let it appear that his business in the City hadfallen through and he had nothing else to do. Ralph's a proud man."

"But I do hope they'll get married before . .. before we leave. They could stay on at Craigwood till they have a> house ready at Marlsea. Marion's already given up most of her work in London and she only has to make it final. She can take part in local charities. . . ."

"That's enough," said Simon. "Let them do their ownanravelling. I've had more than enough of other people's!affairs. You'll have enough on your hands, too, my child.You're marrying me a month from now." He tweaked herear. "And in my opinion a month is far too long to wait."

He toudied his mouth to her hair, drew her up with himand held her dose.

"We belong together," he said below his breath. Thenon an almost savage note, "Darling . . . this is for ever."

"'For ever, Simon," she whispered. He kissed her, and the last shadow of pain was gone,

because she was vibrant and eternal with love.