at feeling
might have been mitigated by the personal element, so important to all
human judgment; but never having seen him, she thought of his conduct as
"caddish." And she knew that this was, and would be, the trouble between
her and her sister. However she might disguise it, Noel would feel that
judgment underneath.

She stripped off her nurse's garb, put on an evening frock, and fidgeted
about the room. Anything rather than go down and see her father again
before she must. This, which had happened, was beyond words terrible for
him; she dreaded the talk with him about Noel's health which would have
to come. She could say nothing, of course, until Noel wished; and, very
truthful by nature, the idea, of having to act a lie distressed her.

She went down at last, and found them both in the drawing-room already;
Noel in a frilly evening frock, sitting by the fire with her chin on
her hand, while her father was reading out the war news from the evening
paper. At sight of that cool, dainty, girlish figure brooding over the
fire, and of her father's worn face, the tragedy of this business thrust
itself on her with redoubled force. Poor Dad! Poor Nollie! Awful! Then
Noel turned, and gave a little shake of her head, and her eyes said,
almost as plainly as lips could have said it: 'Silence!' Gratian nodded,
and came forward to the fire. And so began one of those calm, domestic
evenings, which cover sometimes such depths of heartache.

2

Noel stayed up until her father went to bed, then went upstairs at
once. She had evidently determined that they should not talk about her.
Gratian sat on alone, waiting for her husband! It was nearly midnight
when he came, and she did not tell him the family news till next
morning. He received it with a curious little grunt. Gratian saw his
eyes contract, as they might have, perhaps, looking at some bad and
complicated wound, and then stare steadily at the ceiling. Though they
had been married over a year, she did not yet know what he thought about
many things, and she waited with a queer sinking at her heart. This
skeleton in the family cupboard was a test of his affection for herself,
a test of the quality of the man she had married. He did not speak for
a little, and her anxiety grew. Then his hand sought hers, and gave it a
hard squeeze.

"Poor little Nollie! This is a case for Mark Tapleyism. But cheer up,
Gracie! We'll get her through somehow."

"But father! It's impossible to