ound her thoughts turning
restfully, in quite a wifely way, to Hubert. She knocked at his door.

There was no answer but she had not waited for one. She burst in.

The room was full of industry. The very air seemed heavy with a
wished-for silence. A clock would have been overpowering.

Hubert swung slowly round, with an expression on his face that made it
clear he was attempting not to lose touch with some great idea. He
kept a finger on the sheet before him.

Helena was rather alarmed. She had not seen his study in its present
state, and as she stood there at the door a moment, her eyes took in
the litter of loose paper; all the open books on table, chairs, and
floor; the derelict type-writer, long abandoned as fatal to all
inspiration; the velvet coat; and most of all, the worried look. Her
plaint shrank instantly to an excuse.

"Oh Hugh," she said (she never could quite manage "Hubert"), "I _am_ so
sorry, but what do you think?"

"I can't imagine," he said in a cold voice so unlike his own. "What?
Is your mother dead?"

Even Helena, so bad at scenting irony, could guess that he did not mean
that.

"Of course she isn't," she replied; "but I've lost the lovely little
watch she gave me, and I did love it so." She tried not to let too
much sorrow come into her voice. He always looked upon her as a baby,
anyhow.

Surely he was sorry? He said nothing. He looked at her so oddly that
she grew alarmed.

"Isn't it awful?" she added uneasily.

Hubert rose slowly to his feet. "Really, Helena," he said, "you don't
mean you've broken my whole morning's work just to tell me you've lost
some silly trinket? You might have waited until lunch-time. Now, my
whole chapter--well, it simply means I've got to start it all again."

He took up a sheet of paper, tore it dramatically through, and let the
two halves fall upon the carpet. Helena, full of an astounded guilt,
looked down to see how much of his work her thoughtlessness had wasted.
But all the writing must have been upon the under side....

"Oh, Hugh dear," she said, longing to touch him yet not daring quite;
he looked so cross and tall. "I _am_ sorry. It was stupid of me. But
I thought you'd be sorry and could--could do something."

She ended lamely and he was not touched by her faith in him.

"Of course," he said bitterly, "I shall at once scour the heath, like a
police dog, on my hands and knees. I shall watch the termini. I shall
telephone-