rming
appearance, and a venomous desire to give her slight pain.

"Romer has been here, I see--I mean, I guess he has by the cigarette.
He's the only person who's allowed to smoke here. Yes, Mrs. Wyburn,
we're off on Wednesday. Won't you miss us awfully? But I shall be very
glad to go. I've really had enough of the season." Val spoke with a
shade of weariness.

"No wonder! I suppose you've hardly had one quiet evening at home the
last three weeks?"

"Very likely not one. Even when we're quite alone Harry comes round, and
often his American friend too."

This was a challenge.

Valentia was sitting opposite the light, dressed in blue, in a black
hat of moderate size, looking straight at the elder lady with a smile,
and stirring her cup of tea.

Mrs. Wyburn admired her pluck and the fit of her dress.

"Yes, exactly--just what I should have thought. You know what a horror I
have of displaying anything in the shape or form of _interference_, dear
Valentia. But, since you've mentioned it yourself, may I just say,
doesn't it seem almost a pity that you should never be alone with your
husband?"

Valentia began to laugh.

"Oh, really, Mrs. Wyburn, why do you assume that? But of course we're
longing for a quiet time. That is why we're going away so early. What
_delicious_ China tea! Yours is the only house where one gets it quite
like this."

She put down her cup, which was more than half full, with a slight sigh.

"Romer hates China tea too," said Mrs. Wyburn. "It would be really
better for your nerves if you'd drink it, my dear."

"And when do you go to Bournemouth?"

"The first week in August. So I shall be able to come down one day--as
Romer asked me--before I go, and just have a peep at what you're all
doing at the Green Gate."

She smiled with grotesque playfulness.

"Oh, that will be nice," said Valentia. "It must be looking lovely now.
Did Romer say anything else of any importance?"

"He never says much, as you know, important or not! He's very like his
poor father, who really used to sit opposite to me for hours at a time
without opening his lips."

"A strong, silent man," murmured Val sympathetically. "I know so well
what you mean."

"Indeed you don't," snapped Mrs. Wyburn. "He was the weakest
creature--_morally_, I mean, poor dear--that ever breathed. He was a
very tall, fine man, but yet any pretty woman could turn him round her
little finger! It was his most marked characteristic."

"Fancy!