she was in any way
different from her sister, except perhaps that she was obviously more
mature. In her spirited glance and smile you would have detected nothing
of the tempest in her soul, nothing of the fear in her heart. Only a
botanist of the human spirit could have observed that subtle difference
in her look, that suggestion of anxiety in her parted lips, which told
the tale of her incomparably courageous, determined, undaunted, but
sadly unavailing fight.

It was the night, the long silence alone, that she was beginning to
dread. And those who dread the night show the lines of fear on their
faces during the day. They laugh, they join in the general sport, their
gait is light, their clothes may be gay, but at the back of their eyes,
the sympathetic can see the previous night's vigil; and it is the
haunting fear of experiencing it again that gives their voices, their
words, their very laughter that ring of overanxiousness, that stamp of
heavily overtaxed bravery.

Cleopatra dreaded the night; but she also dreaded the dawn. Denis,
sunburnt, athletic, efficient at everything he undertook, Denis
ironical, pensive, independent, Denis revealed anew to her in a way she
had least expected, was obviously either humouring a flapper most
shamelessly--or--or----

The alternative could not be articulated. To have pronounced it would
have lent it a reality that it must not possess. It was, however, in the
effort not to frame the alternative that her vigils were kept. And it is
extraordinary how one can perspire even on the coolest night over such
an effort.

CHAPTER X

"Peachy, what do you think has happened? Oh, _do_ guess!"

The voice was Leonetta's. The question was followed by a laugh, a laugh
that spoke at once of triumph and merriment.

It was lunch-time on the morning of the ninth day of their holiday. Mrs.
Delarayne, in the garden of "The Fastness," was stretched on her
_chaise-longue_ reading. Beside her Cleopatra, who had not felt inclined
for a bathe that morning, and who, therefore, had not been into
Stonechurch, was working at some fancy embroidery.

"I haven't any idea," Mrs. Delarayne replied, as Leonetta stalked up the
garden path with Denis at her side, followed by Vanessa, Guy Tyrrell,
and the Fearwells. They all had their wet bathing things with them, and
even the matronly Vanessa had her hair hanging over her shoulders.

"Why, the man in the sweetstuff shop at the corner of the High Street