mother,' he said, looking away. 'I say--' Edith.'

'Yes, dear?'

'Oh, nothing.'

She waited on till the train started. His manner was alternately
peevish and kind, but altogether odd. Her last glimpse was a rather
pale smile from Bruce as he waved his hand and then turned to his
paper....

'Well, what _does_ it matter so long as he _has_ gone!' exclaimed
Aylmer impatiently, when she expressed her wonder at Bruce's going. The
tide was low, and they went for a long walk over the hard shining sand,
followed by Archie picking up wonderful shells and slipping on the
green seaweed. Everything seemed fresh, lovely. She herself was as
fresh as the sea breeze, and Aylmer seemed to her as strong as the sea.
(Privately, Edith thought him irresistible in country clothes.) Edith
had everything here to make her happy, including Bruce's mother, who
relieved her of the children when she wanted rest and in whose eyes she
was perfection.

She saw restrained adoration in Aylmer's eyes, love and trust in the
eyes of the children. She had all she wanted. And yet--something tugged
at her heart, and worried her. She had a strange and melancholy
presentiment.

But she threw it off. Probably there was nothing really wrong with
Bruce; perhaps only one of those little imaginary romances that he
liked to fabricate for himself; or, perhaps, it was really business? It
was all right if Mr Mitchell knew about it. Yet she could not believe
that 'M' _was_ Mitchell. Bruce had repeated it too often; and, why on
earth should Mitchell suddenly take to sending Bruce fantastic
telegrams and signing them, for no reason, with an initial?...

CHAPTER XXVI

Goggles

'What divine heavenly pets and ducks of angels they are!' exclaimed
Lady Everard rather distractedly. 'Angels! Divine! And so good, too! I
never saw such darlings in my life. Look at them, Paul. Aren't they
sweet?'

Lady Everard with her party (what Aylmer called her performing troupe)
had driven over to Westgate, from where she was staying in the
neighbourhood, to have tea with Edith. She had brought with her a sort
of juvenile party, consisting of Mr Cricker, Captain Willis and, of
course, Paul La France, the young singer. She never moved without him.
She explained that two other women had been coming also, but they had
deserted her at the last minute.

Paul La France had been trying for an hour and a half to make eyes
through motor goggles, which, naturally, was not a success;