think
clearly--" She turned and looked at Barres.

"Is it serious?" he said in a low voice.

"I--suppose so.... Garry, I wish to--to come here ... and stay."

"What!"

She nodded.

"Is it all right?"

"All right," he replied pleasantly, bewildered and almost inclined to
laugh.

She said in a low, tense voice.

"I'm really in trouble, Garry. I told you once that the word was not
in my vocabulary.... I've had to include it."

"I'm so sorry! Tell me all about----"

He checked himself: she turned to Westmore--a deeper flush came into
her cheeks--then she said gravely:

"I scarcely know Mr. Westmore, but if he is like you, Garry--your
sort--perhaps he----"

"He'd do anything for you, Thessa, if you'll let him. Have you
confidence in me?"

"You know I have."

"Then you can have the same confidence in Jim. I suggest it because I
have a hazy idea what your trouble is. And if you came to ask advice,
then I think that you'll get double value if you include Jim Westmore
in your confidence."

She stood silent and with heightened colour for a moment, then her
expression became humorous, and, partly turning, she put out her
gloved hand behind her and took hold of Westmore's sleeve. It was at
once an appeal and an impulsive admission of her confidence in this
young man whom she had liked from the beginning, and who must be
trustworthy because he was the friend of Garret Barres.

"I'm scared half to death," she remarked, without a quaver in her
voice, but her smile had now become forced, and a quick, uneven little
sigh escaped her as she passed her arms through Barres' and
Westmore's, and, moving across the carpet between them, suffered
herself to be installed among the Chinese cushions upon the lounge by
the open window.

In her distractingly pretty summer hat and gown, and with her white
gloves and gold-mesh purse in her lap--her fresh, engaging face and
daintily rounded figure--Thessalie Dunois seemed no more mature, no
more experienced in worldly wisdom, than the charming young girls one
passes on Fifth Avenue on a golden morning in early spring.

But Westmore, looking into her dark eyes, divined, perhaps, something
less inexperienced, less happy in their lovely, haunted depths. And,
troubled by he knew not what, he waited in silence for her to speak.

Barres said to her:

"You are being annoyed, Thessa, dear. I gather that much from what has
already happened. Can Jim and I do anything?"

"I don't kn