e knew she
resisted the invasion of their hours of depression with less courage
than of old. It did not seem to matter so greatly if there were
nothing to be won from life, and she was very tired. It had been a
mistake to come to Marden at all, there was too much time to think
there. She returned to that fact eventually. The afternoon wore on and
she fell into a lethargy with no desire to escape it, and did not hear
Christopher's motor arrive.

Christopher for once paused in the hall, instead of going straight to
Aymer's room, as was the invariable rule, after even a day's absence.

"Where is Mrs. Aston?" he asked the footman, who replied vaguely, when
Renata herself appeared. But it was not Renata that Christopher
wanted.

"Where is Patricia?" he questioned with more truth.

"Upstairs in her room, I think. She seems rather worried and tired,
Christopher. Do you want her?"

There was a note of anxiety in Renata's gentle voice. She was always
nervous and anxious if she fancied Patricia was worried, struggling to
stand between her and the petty annoyances which were supposed to be
so irresistibly maddening to a true Connell.

"Yes, I want her." He smiled as he said it. "But I'll go to her. Don't
trouble."

He went upstairs two steps at a time, and along the familiar corridor,
and outside the door paused for the first moment since he had seen
his vision on the highroad.

The corridor was already dark, but when he entered in obedience to her
languid "Come in," the fire light made a rosy glow and filled the
quiet space with tremulous light.

Patricia sat facing the fire, with her back to the door. He could see
her golden head over the back of the chair, and his heart beat
quickly.

"May I come and talk to you, Patricia?"

For the moment she did not answer or move. She was almost in doubt if
she could accept his presence just now, until he was actually standing
on the rug before her, looking down at her with keen, searching eyes,
before which all her wild thoughts sunk back into oblivion, and a
sense of quiet content and security stole over her.

"What have you been doing?" he demanded. "You look very tired."

"The result of laziness," she rejoined, and then was angry with
herself for allowing an opening for mere trivialities.

"No, that's not true, Christopher. It's a bad day with me. I'm afraid
to face anyone, even my own maid."

With no one else in the world could she have owned so much, and the
keen p