in his voice. "My dear
Nick," she said earnestly, "I am sure of it. You could make any woman
who loved you happy. But no one--no one--knows the misery that may
result from a marriage without love on both sides--except those who
have made one."

There was something almost passionate in her utterance. But she turned
if off quickly with a smile and a friendly hand upon his arm.

"Come," she said lightly. "I want to show you my boy. I left him
almost in tears. But he always smiles when he sees his mother."

"Who doesn't?" said Nick gallantly, following her lead.

CHAPTER IX

THE SCHOOL OF SORROW

The aromatic scent of the Simla pines literally encircled and pervaded
the Bassetts' bungalow, penetrating to every corner. Lady Bassett was
wont to pronounce it "distractingly sweet," when her visitors drew
her attention to the fact. Hers was among the daintiest as well as the
best situated bungalows in Simla, and she was pleasantly aware of
a certain envy on the part of her many acquaintances, which added
a decided relish to the flavour of her own appreciation. But
notwithstanding this, she was hardly ever to be found at home except
by appointment. Her social engagements were so numerous that, as she
often pathetically remarked, she scarcely ever enjoyed the luxury of
solitude. As a hostess she was indefatigable, and being an excellent
bridge-player as well as a superb dancer, it was not surprising that
she occupied a fairly prominent position in her own select circle.
In appearance she was a woman of about five-and-thirty--though the
malicious added a full dozen years more to her credit--with fair hair,
a peculiarly soft voice, and a smile that was slightly twisted. She
was always exquisitely dressed, always cool, always gentle, never
hasty in word or deed. If she ever had reason to rebuke or snub, it
was invariably done with the utmost composure, but with deadly effect
upon the offender. Lady Bassett was generally acknowledged to be
unanswerable at such times by all but the very few who did not fear
her.

There were not many who really felt at ease with her, and Muriel
Roscoe was emphatically not one of the number. Her father had
nominated Sir Reginald her guardian, and Sir Reginald, aware of this
fact, had sent her at once to his wife at Simla. The girl had been too
ill at the time to take any interest in her destination or ultimate
disposal. It was true that she had never liked Lady Bassett, that she
had eve