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her walks in New York, but one encounter with a man who established himself on the same shady seat which she had selected, endeavoured to drag her into conversation, and finally followed her as she made her way to the gates, sent her fluttering home, white-faced and trembling, and put a stop to her peaceful afternoons for the rest of their visit.

She had plenty of time now to look matters fairly in the face; she must build herself some sort of dwelling out of the chaos of her upheaved world. In a sense, things were simpler since the meeting with Tony. Before that, the uselessness of her absence from Trent Stoke had depressed her sometimes, though the feeling was not strong enough to drive her back. But now that point of view need not unsettle her. Tony would soon be in possession, and it only remained for her to adjust herself permanently to her altered conditions. She could not conceal from herself the fact that the prospect was utterly painful. It was astonishing how little consolation the thought of people in much worse circumstances brought her! In fact, the realisation of such universal unhappiness and difficulty made things harder still. But her absolute youth upheld her even in her darkest days. That blessed feeling of “something ahead”–some still veiled splendour—some dawn of joy, half expected, yet very vaguely pictured—was with her always, though often crushed beneath a weight of loneliness and regretful memories. She was a trustful, happy-natured child, sound in mind and body, and brave. Though it was partly the courage of ignorance, most of it was the courage of health, and that counts for so much.

“I shall keep a stiff upper lip,” she told herself—“I can do that. And it must be, to a great extent, a question of getting used to things. I suppose all life is that.”