asked quickly, "You knew him?"

"Knew him!" Tabs pondered the question. "I'm not sure. But Lady
Dawn--I've heard a good deal about her. She had a nursing unit in
France, didn't she? Of course she had; you and Terry were with her. It
was in her hospital that Terry met Braithwaite. She passed me yesterday,
driving with the Queen in the Park; not that I noticed her. It was Terry
who did that." He came slowly over from the window to the fireplace and
stood gazing level with the picture above the mantelpiece. He spoke
wonderingly, "The most beautiful woman in England, they say! So this is
Lady Dawn!"

When he had finished his inspection, his interest and absorption were so
great that he did what he had vowed he would never do again--he sat down
for a second time on the couch beside her.

"There's something wrong," he said quietly. "Either you're misinformed
or I'm mistaken. Let's get things straight."

She made no attempt to conceal her amusement. She attributed his
seriousness to sudden infatuation--an infatuation which made him seem
ridiculously inconstant after his recent professions concerning Terry.

"Something wrong!" she echoed mockingly. "If you think that I've
exaggerated anything that I've told you about----" She glanced up at the
portrait. "I don't think I'm likely to be misinformed. After all, I'm
her----"

"I didn't mean that," he interrupted impatiently. "I was referring to
Lord Dawn. If he's the same man, I think both you and she have misjudged
him."

Maisie laughed. "Lord Dawn was sufficiently definite. I'm not misjudging
him. He left no room for misjudgment."

"But you said that he had died hating her."

"He did, as far as we know. He gave no sign to the contrary."

"But does she, Lady Dawn, think that?"

"Think that he hated her?"

"No, that he died hating her?"

Maisie picked up a cigarette from the table and looked to Tabs for a
match. She was getting bored. "Why, certainly. One doesn't want to be
cynical, but all the deaths on the casualty-lists weren't total losses.
Some of them were releases. They weren't all--well, to put it mildly,
occasions for wearing the deepest mourning. There were English wives to
whom German shells were merciful--more merciful than English law. If
they took lives, there were cases in which they restored freedom."

As Tabs struck a match and held it to her cigarette, his hand trembled.
He had to steady his passion before he asked his question. "And you
think