d. Her niece's face was so pale, her eyes
so dark, her voice so whispery and strained.

"Your father didn't wish you to hear," she said, with all the aplomb she
could muster. "These things will happen. I've often told him he ought
to let you know."

"Oh!" said Fleur, and that was all, but it made Winifred pat her
shoulder--a firm little shoulder, nice and white! She never could help
an appraising eye and touch in the matter of her niece, who would have to
be married, of course--though not to that boy Jon.

"We've forgotten all about it years and years ago," she said comfortably.
"Come and have dinner!"

"No, Auntie. I don't feel very well. May I go upstairs?"

"My dear!" murmured Winifred, concerned, "you're not taking this to
heart? Why, you haven't properly come out yet! That boy's a child!"

"What boy? I've only got a headache. But I can't stand that man
to-night."

"Well, well," said Winifred, "go and lie down. I'll send you some
bromide, and I shall talk to Prosper Profond. What business had he to
gossip? Though I must say I think it's much better you should know."

Fleur smiled. "Yes," she said, and slipped from the room.

She went up with her head whirling, a dry sensation in her throat, a
guttered frightened feeling in her breast. Never in her life as yet had
she suffered from even momentary fear that she would not get what she had
set her heart on. The sensations of the afternoon had been full and
poignant, and this gruesome discovery coming on the top of them had
really made her head ache. No wonder her father had hidden that
photograph, so secretly behind her own-ashamed of having kept it! But
could he hate Jon's mother and yet keep her photograph? She pressed her
hands over her forehead, trying to see things clearly. Had they told
Jon--had her visit to Robin Hill forced them to tell him? Everything now
turned on that! She knew, they all knew, except--perhaps--Jon!

She walked up and down, biting her lip and thinking desperately hard. Jon
loved his mother. If they had told him, what would he do? She could not
tell. But if they had not told him, should she not--could she not get
him for herself--get married to him, before he knew? She searched her
memories of Robin Hill. His mother's face so passive--with its dark
eyes and as if powdered hair, its reserve, its smile--baffled her; and
his father's--kindly, sunken, ironic. Instinctively she felt they would
shrink from tellin