passed since that day we had met only once, for another short
summer holiday, and repeated invitations to The Clough had received the
same refusal--"I am not ready for visit-making."

Letters I had received in plenty, and she had sent Kathie a handsome--
really an extraordinarily handsome gift on her marriage, and to me the
dearest of letters, understanding everything without being told,
entering into my varying moods with exquisite comprehension. In return,
I had poured out my heart, telling her of my loneliness, my difficulty
about the next step, and now, at last, here came the reply.

I sent Bridget away, drank my tea at a gulp, and settled down to read in
luxurious enjoyment. It was a longer letter than I had yet received,
and I had a premonition that it would clear the way. But I did not
realise how epoch-making it was to prove.

"Dear Evelyn Wastneys,--I've been through it, my dear, and I know! It
doesn't bear talking of, so we _won't_ talk, but just pass on. What
next? you ask. I have been trying to solve that problem for the last
four years, and am no nearer a solution, so I can't tell you, my dear,
but I have an idea which might possibly provide a half-way house for us
both till the clouds lift.

"This summer I happened--literally happened!--upon a small country place
about two hours' rail from town. An agent would describe it as a
`desirable gentleman's residence, comprising four entertaining rooms and
eight bedrooms, glass, stabling, and grounds of four acres, artistically
laid out'. But never mind the agent; take it from me that that house is
ideal. Long, low, irregular rooms just waiting to be made beautiful; no
set garden, but a wilderness of flowers, and a belt of real woodland;
dry soil, all the sun that is to be had, and an open country-side
agreeably free from villadom. I was tempted--badly tempted, but could
not face settling down alone. Only last week the agent wrote to me
again.

"Evelyn, we fit each other; we are friends by instinct. How would you
like to take that house with me for the next two or three years, and
furnish it between us with our best `bits'?

"Understand, before we go any further--not for a moment do I suggest
that we settle down to a definite home, and a jog-trot country life. I
couldn't stand it for one, and I doubt whether you could either, but--we
suit each other, Evelyn; there's that mysterious psychological link
between us which makes it good to be togethe