however, found her in bed, snuffling and complaining
of headache, and pathetically resigned to the idea of spending the day
between the sheets. Obviously she was in no fit state to inflict her
company on other people, so, in the afternoon, after settling her
comfortably with a new novel and a box of cigarettes at her bedside,
Sara took her solitary way to Rose Cottage.

There she found Garth Trent, sitting beside Herrick's couch and deep in
an enthusiastic discussion of amateur photography. But, immediately on
her entrance, the eager, interested expression died out of his face,
and very shortly after tea he made his farewells, nor could any soft
blandishments on the part of the Lavender Lady prevail upon him to
remain longer.

Sara felt hurt and resentful. Since the day of the expedition to Devil's
Hood Island, Trent had punctiliously avoided being in her company
whenever circumstances would permit him to do so, and she was perfectly
aware that it was her presence at Rose Cottage which was responsible for
his early departure this afternoon.

A gleam of anger flickered in the black depths of her eyes as he shook
hands.

"I'm sorry I've driven you away," she flashed at him beneath her breath,
with a bitterness akin to his own. He made no answer, merely releasing
her hand rather quickly, as though something in her words had flicked
him on the raw.

"What a pity Mr. Trent had to leave so soon," remarked Miss Lavinia,
with innocent regret, when he had gone. "I'm afraid we shall never
persuade him to be really sociable, poor dear man! He seems a little
moody to-day, don't you think?"--hesitating delicately.

"He's a bore!" burst out Sara succinctly.

Miles shook his head.

"No, I don't think that," he said. "But he's a very sick man. In my
opinion, Trent's had his soul badly mauled at some time or other."

"He needn't advertise the fact, then," retorted Sara, unappeased. "We
all get our share of ill-luck. Garth behaves as if he had the monopoly."

"There are some scars which can't be hidden," replied Miles quietly.

Sara smiled a little. There was never any evading Herrick's broad
tolerance of human nature.

It was nearly an hour later when at last she took her way homewards,
carrying in her heart, in spite of herself, something of the gentle
serenity that seemed to be a part of the very atmosphere at Rose
Cottage.

Outside, the calm and fragrance of a June evening awaited her. Little,
delicate, sweet-sme