me. You needn't
be afraid that I've stolen his love from you. We always used to say
our prayers together, and he always used to pray for you. One night
I asked him to pray for me, and he said, 'Would that mean that I loved
you?' And I--well--I wanted him to love me--you must blame me for
that if you wish--I said 'Yes,' because I thought he was going to
do it. And then--he said"--Sally stared hard at a stoker shovelling
coals into the furnace of one of the engines--"he said he
mustn't--because he only loved you. I only told you that because--"

"You thought I'd be jealous?"

"Yes; I should have been."

"And now you've come up to London," said Mrs. Priestly, straining
back the tears in her throat. "What are you going to do? Are you going
back to Cailsham?"

"No--I'm not going back."

"Then will you come with us? The rooms I've taken are not very
comfortable--but--"

"No, I won't come with you--thank you for asking me. I have rooms
in London myself. I shall go to them. Good-bye."

"But, Miss Bishop, you can't leave us like this. I must thank you
properly for all your kindness. You can't leave us like this!"

"It's the best way," said Sally; "I'd sooner this way. Good-bye."

They shook hands silently. Mrs. Priestly got into the cab. Sally
wondered would she tell Maurie that he would not see her again. Then,
as the lumbering old vehicle drove off, a little fair head shot
suddenly out of the window and a large white handkerchief flapped
like a beating flag against his happy little face.

CHAPTER IV

When she had left her trunks at the rooms in Regent Street, Sally
drove straight to Janet's studio, situated in the environments of
Shepherd's Bush.

In the apron of the art-student, her hands unwashed, her hair
dishevelled and untidy, she opened the door to Sally's summons.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed. "Why aren't you at Cailsham?"

"I came up this afternoon."

Sally entered the room, crossed to the drawing-board, where the
design for a figure of lace was slowly materializing in white paint
upon brown paper under Janet's hand. With an apparent concentration
of interest she gazed into that. Then Janet closed the door.

"When are you going back?" she asked, climbing slowly to her stool.

"I'm not going back."

Janet grunted, dipped her brush into the porcelain palette and
painted in a line that meant nothing. Then she laid down the brush
and looked up.

"I've been expecting this." she said. "Why are