infinite dismay in her voice.

Dr. Martineau was grave. "You would rather not receive her?"

"I don't want to refuse her. I don't want even to seem heartless.
I understand, of course, she has a sort of claim." She sobbed her
reluctant admission. "I know it. I know.... There was much between
them."

Dr. Martineau pressed the limp hand upon the little tea table. "I
understand, dear lady," he said. "I understand. Now ... suppose _I_ were
to write to her and arrange--I do not see that you need be put to the
pain of meeting her. Suppose I were to meet her here myself?

"If you COULD!"

The doctor was quite prepared to save the lady any further distresses,
no matter at what trouble to himself. "You are so good to me," she said,
letting the tears have their way with her.

"I am silly to cry," she said, dabbing her eyes.

"We will get it over to-morrow," he reassured her. "You need not think
of it again."

He took over Martin's brief note to Lady Hardy and set to work by
telegram to arrange for her visit. She was in London at her Chelsea flat
and easily accessible. She was to come to the house at mid-day on the
morrow, and to ask not for Lady Hardy but for him. He would stay by her
while she was in the house, and it would be quite easy for Lady Hardy to
keep herself and her daughter out of the way. They could, for example,
go out quietly to the dressmakers in the closed car, for many little
things about the mourning still remained to be seen to.

Section 8

Miss Martin Leeds arrived punctually, but the doctor was well ahead of
his time and ready to receive her. She was ushered into the drawing room
where he awaited her. As she came forward the doctor first perceived
that she had a very sad and handsome face, the face of a sensitive youth
rather than the face of a woman. She had fine grey eyes under very
fine brows; they were eyes that at other times might have laughed very
agreeably, but which were now full of an unrestrained sadness. Her brown
hair was very untidy and parted at the side like a man's. Then he noted
that she seemed to be very untidily dressed as if she was that rare and,
to him, very offensive thing, a woman careless of her beauty. She was
short in proportion to her broad figure and her broad forehead.

"You are Dr. Martineau?" she said. "He talked of you." As she spoke
her glance went from him to the pictures that stood about the room. She
walked up to the painting and stood in front of it with her