e, and the comfort it would be to see you walk in at this moment,
and to know that you'd come to stay! I want you more than I've ever
wanted you before; and if you say no, I'll collapse at once, and it will
be your fault, and you'll repent for ever after. Wire your reply."

Vanna smiled happily as she read the characteristic words. Yes, her
time had come. She had waited to a good purpose. Jean needed her, and
she needed Jean; she was longing eagerly for long, heart-to-heart talks
with her only woman friend. Except those few short days at Seacliff,
the two friends had not met since the day of the wedding, and there
would be so much to hear, so much to say. What would Jean have to say
to her great news? She recalled Jean's face of dismay as, kneeling on
the ground, she had listened to Dr Greatman's verdict; heard again the
tremble in her voice as she asked, "Is there no escape?" Surely Jean
would not blame her, because when happiness had been placed into her
hand she had not had strength to thrust it away? Surely out of the
riches of her own wealth she would rejoice that some crumbs had fallen
to her friend? What would Robert say? He was a man: he would judge
from a man's standpoint, with his head rather than with his heart.
Vanna shrank nervously from Robert's disapproval. He was one of the
simple, upright men who are apt to be hard judges. To them there are
but two courses in life--a right and a wrong. They have neither
sympathy nor understanding for those who pitifully essay to find byways
by which to escape the rigours of the path. Yet when love had seized
Robert in its grip he had made short work of obstacles--had laughed to
scorn Vanna's prudent advice. When she had condemned him, and refused
her help, he had replied that it was not needed. He required no help
from outside. Well! Vanna lifted her chin with proud resolve; she
herself could be equally independent. It would make the future more
difficult if Robert and Jean adopted a disapproving attitude, but for
the moment she need not trouble herself about such a contingency. She
would allow Jean time for the discussion of her own affairs before
seizing a quiet opportunity for telling her own great news.

The tall town house, with its narrow staircase, and high, box-like
rooms, felt close and stuffy after the wind-swept cottage, but it glowed
with the colour dear to the heart of its mistress, and was refreshingly
different from the ordinary hous