ough the day as if nothing had happened, to deceive
them all, and then--! Exactly what 'and then' meant, she did not explain
even to herself.

In accordance with this plan of action she presented an untroubled front
at breakfast, went out riding with little Ann, and shopping with her
mother afterwards. Owing to this news of Miltoun the journey to Scotland
had been postponed. She parried with cool ingenuity each attempt made by
Lady Valleys to draw her into conversation on the subject of that meeting
at Gustard's, nor would she talk of her brother; in every other way she
was her usual self. In the afternoon she even volunteered to accompany
her mother to old Lady Harbinger's in the neighbourhood of Prince's Gate.
She knew that Harbinger would be there, and with the thought of meeting
that other at 'five o'clock,' had a cynical pleasure in thus encountering
him. It was so complete a blind to them all! Then, feeling that she was
accomplishing a masterstroke; she even told him, in her mother's hearing,
that she would walk home, and he might come if he cared. He did care.

But when once she had begun to swing along in the mellow afternoon, under
the mellow trees, where the air was sweetened by the South-West wind, all
that mutinous, reckless mood of hers vanished, she felt suddenly happy
and kind, glad to be walking with him. To-day too he was cheerful, as if
determined not to spoil her gaiety; and she was grateful for this. Once
or twice she even put her hand up and touched his sleeve, calling his
attention to birds or trees, friendly, and glad, after all those hours of
bitter feelings, to be giving happiness. When they parted at the door of
Valleys House, she looked back at him with a queer, half-rueful smile.
For, now the hour had come!

In a little unfrequented ante-room, all white panels and polish, she sat
down to wait. The entrance drive was visible from here; and she meant to
encounter Courtier casually in the hall. She was excited, and a little
scornful of her own excitement. She had expected him to be punctual, but
it was already past five; and soon she began to feel uneasy, almost
ridiculous, sitting in this room where no one ever came. Going to the
window, she looked out.

A sudden voice behind her, said:

"Auntie Babs!".

Turning, she saw little Ann regarding her with those wide, frank, hazel
eyes. A shiver of nerves passed through Barbara.

"Is this your room? It's a nice room, isn't it?"