ation, she would
never have accepted the situation, never have laid seal to the
compact.

All this delirium of reasoning, she showed in the first few moments
to Janet when she had returned to London. Down at Kew she spent an
evening, delighted, with a justifiable pride, to be seen in one of
the dainty frocks that Traill had bought her.

"So you're married now, I 'ear," said Mrs. Hewson.

"Yes." Sally beamed with her reply, and Janet watched her with
questioning eyes.

"I hope you're happy."

"I couldn't be happier," Sally answered; then she dragged Janet
upstairs to the room they had shared together for two years, and
throwing her parcels--presents that she had brought from abroad--on
to the bed, she twined her arms round Janet's slender neck and covered
the thin, drawn face with kisses.

One knows the endearments that such an occasion exacts. They come
out of a full heart and bear no repetition, for only a full heart
can understand them. They swept over Janet, for the moment blinding
her in her fondness for this child, full of swift impulse in her
gratitude, and drugged with romance in her mind. But once those
endearments had been spoken, when once the presents had been divested
of their paper wrappings--porcelain representations of the Bambinos
from Florence--a marble statue of the Venus de Milo from Pisa--an
ornament in mosaic from Rome--when once they had been set up, admired,
paid for in kisses of gratitude, then Janet gave words to the
questions that had been looking from her eyes.

"What sort of a settlement has he made on you?" she asked.

The inquiry, notwithstanding the fact that it had been spoken with
a gentle voice, tuned to consideration for her feelings, struck the
sensitiveness of Sally's mind, whipped the blood to her cheeks.

"There is no settlement. Why should there be?"

"Why? Well, for every reason in the world, I should think."

"There is none, then."

"You haven't even suggested it?"

"No!"

She rose, turning away from the bed where she had been sitting, with
the tears smarting in her eyes. Janet looked after her, an expression
of contemplation pursing her features, wrinkling her forehead.

"I think I'll go and see Mr. Traill," she said slowly.

Sally wheeled round, her heel a pivot to the motion.

"What for?" she asked.

"I think he'd better be told that he can't play indiscriminately with
women like you."

"He's not playing," Sally retorted violently. "You're cruel, Jan