op to no pretence by way of
excuse. When they had walked about a mile along the sea-front, she
quietly announced her intention of sitting down.

"I don't think I shall go any farther. I've brought a book. I shall
sit here and rest, and you can pick me up as you come back."

"Oh, Vanna! Why? Are you tired, dear? Aren't you well?" demanded
naughty Jean.

"Perfectly well, thank you," replied Vanna coldly, and had the
satisfaction of seeing that Piers Rendall thought her exceedingly
disagreeable for her pains.

The two figures crossed the belt of pebbly stones, and walked over the
sunny sands to the water's side. Hitherto they had kept to the levelled
promenade, and to Vanna's irritated senses it appeared an added offence
that, once released from her presence, they should at once hasten into
solitude. She turned her eyes away and stared drearily into space.
Revolt surged in her heart. It was not fair. Jean had everything--
home, parents, beauty, strength, the right to be wooed and won. The
world was cruel--unjust. Why should such differences exist? Her own
lot was too hard. She had not deserved it. She had done her best.
Circumstances had not been too easy--always there had hung a shadow;
life in the little country hamlet with Aunt Mary, delicate and sad, had
been by no means ideal for a young girl. Without conceit she knew
herself to have been dutiful, affectionate, kind. She had put her own
wishes in the background, content to minister to an old woman's
declining years. Her own turn would come. Life lay ahead, crowded with
golden possibilities; when they came they would be all the sweeter for
the consciousness of duty well done. And now? Ah, well, in converse
with one's nearest friend one might affect to be brave and independent,
but in the solitude of one's own woman's heart it seemed as if those
possibilities had been wiped away, and left nothing behind.

In times of trouble and upheaval the sufferer is constantly exhorted by
sympathetic friends to turn resolutely away from the sad past, and look
ahead. Onward! they are told--press onward! Life lies not in the past,
but in the future. Despair comes of looking back, courage with
expectation. Poor Vanna recalled these axioms with a weary heart. That
was just what she dared not do. What could the future hold for her?

She sat very still, her hands clasped on her lap, her eyes shut against
the glare. The sun seemed cruel to-day; the dance o