ther book.

"I ought not to have consulted any one. What would our father have
thought of me?"

She did not think of questioning her sister, or of rebuking her. Both
might be necessary in the future, but she had first to purge a greater
crime than any that Helen could have committed--that want of confidence
that is the work of the devil.

"Yes, I am annoyed," replied Helen. "My wishes should have been
respected. I would have gone through this meeting if it was necessary,
but after Aunt Juley recovered, it was not necessary. Planning my life,
as I now have to do."

"Come away from those books," called Margaret. "Helen, do talk to me."

"I was just saying that I have stopped living haphazard. One can't go
through a great deal of--"--she left out the noun--"without planning one's
actions in advance. I am going to have a child in June, and in the first
place conversations, discussions, excitement, are not good for me. I
will go through them if necessary, but only then. In the second place I
have no right to trouble people. I cannot fit in with England as I know
it. I have done something that the English never pardon. It would not be
right for them to pardon it. So I must live where I am not known."

"But why didn't you tell me, dearest?"

"Yes," replied Helen judicially. "I might have, but decided to wait."

"I believe you would never have told me."

"Oh yes, I should. We have taken a flat in Munich."

Margaret glanced out of the window.

"By 'we' I mean myself and Monica. But for her, I am and have been and
always wish to be alone."

"I have not heard of Monica."

"You wouldn't have. She's an Italian--by birth at least. She makes her
living by journalism. I met her originally on Garda. Monica is much the
best person to see me through."

"You are very fond of her, then."

"She has been extraordinarily sensible with me."

Margaret guessed at Monica's type--"Italiano Inglesiato" they had named
it--the crude feminist of the South, whom one respects but avoids. And
Helen had turned to it in her need!

"You must not think that we shall never meet," said Helen, with a
measured kindness. "I shall always have a room for you when you can be
spared, and the longer you can be with me the better. But you haven't
understood yet, Meg, and of course it is very difficult for you. This is
a shock to you. It isn't to me, who have been thinking over our futures
for many months, and they won't be changed by a slight contre