keys, had a frightening
actuality. The face, three-quarters full, was raised as if for
inspiration, and the eyes rested, dreamy and unseeing, on the face of a
girl painted and hung on a background of wall above the piano.

"It's the face of that girl," said Gratian, when they had looked at the
picture for some time in silence:

"No," said Noel, "it's the look in his eyes."

"But why did he choose such a horrid, common girl? Isn't she fearfully
alive, though? She looks as if she were saying: 'Cheerio!'"

"She is; it's awfully pathetic, I think. Poor Daddy!"

"It's a libel," said Gratian stubbornly.

"No. That's what hurts. He isn't quite--quite all there. Will he be
coming in soon?"

Gratian took her arm, and pressed it hard. "Would you like me at dinner
or not; I can easily be out?"

Noel shook her head. "It's no good to funk it. He wanted me, and now
he's got me. Oh! why did he? It'll be awful for him."

Gratian sighed. "I've tried my best, but he always said: 'I've thought
so long about it all that I can't think any longer. I can only feel the
braver course is the best. When things are bravely and humbly met, there
will be charity and forgiveness.'"

"There won't," said Noel, "Daddy's a saint, and he doesn't see."

"Yes, he is a saint. But one must think for oneself--one simply must. I
can't believe as he does, any more; can you, Nollie?"

"I don't know. When I was going through it, I prayed; but I don't know
whether I really believed. I don't think I mind much about that, one way
or the other."

"I mind terribly," said Gratian, "I want the truth."

"I don't know what I want," said Noel slowly, "except that sometimes I
want--life; awfully."

And the two sisters were silent, looking at each other with a sort of
wonder.

Noel had a fancy to put on a bright-coloured blue frock that evening, and
at her neck she hung a Breton cross of old paste, which had belonged to
her mother. When she had finished dressing she went into the nursery and
stood by the baby's cot. The old nurse who was sitting there beside him,
got up at once and said:

"He's sleeping beautiful--the lamb. I'll go down and get a cup o' tea,
and come up, ma'am, when the gong goes." In the way peculiar to those
who have never to initiate, but only to support positions in which they
are placed by others, she had adopted for herself the theory that Noel
was a real war-widow. She knew the truth perfectly; for she had