onfided to Mrs. Ercott in the buffet at the Gare du Nord, when Olive had
gone to wash, that he did not think there was much in it, after all,
looking at the way she'd travelled.

But Mrs. Ercott answered:

"Haven't you ever noticed that Olive never shows what she does not want
to? She has not got those eyes for nothing."

"What eyes?"

"Eyes that see everything, and seem to see nothing."

Conscious that something was hurting her, the Colonel tried to take her
hand.

But Mrs. Ercott rose quickly, and went where he could not follow.

Thus suddenly deserted, the Colonel brooded, drumming on the little
table. What now! Dolly was unjust! Poor Dolly! He was as fond of her
as ever! Of course! How could he help Olive's being young--and pretty;
how could he help looking after her, and wanting to save her from this
mess! Thus he sat wondering, dismayed by the unreasonableness of women.
It did not enter his head that Mrs. Ercott had been almost as sleepless
as his niece, watching through closed eyes every one of those little
expeditions of his, and saying to herself: "Ah! He doesn't care how I
travel!"

She returned serene enough, concealing her 'grief,' and soon they were
once more whirling towards England.

But the future had begun to lay its hand on Olive; the spell of the past
was already losing power; the sense that it had all been a dream grew
stronger every minute. In a few hours she would re-enter the little
house close under the shadow of that old Wren church, which reminded her
somehow of childhood, and her austere father with his chiselled face.
The meeting with her husband! How go through that! And to-night! But
she did not care to contemplate to-night. And all those to-morrows
wherein there was nothing she had to do of which it was reasonable to
complain, yet nothing she could do without feeling that all the
friendliness and zest and colour was out of life, and she a prisoner.
Into those to-morrows she felt she would slip back, out of her dream;
lost, with hardly perhaps an effort. To get away to the house on the
river, where her husband came only at weekends, had hitherto been a
refuge; only she would not see Mark there--unless--! Then, with the
thought that she would, must still see him sometimes, all again grew
faintly glamorous. If only she did see him, what would the rest matter?
Never again as it had before!

The Colonel was reaching down her handbag; his cheery: "Looks as if it
wou