g it all, she says she will be here to-morrow."

Joan had pushed her chair back and stood up, her breakfast unfinished.
She was staring at his down-bent head, struggling with a wild desire to
scream, to cry out against the curtain of shame he was so wilfully
sweeping across their life together. She fought down the impulse though
and moved over to the window.

"You want me to go away and hide?" she asked from there, her voice
dangerously quiet.

He glanced up at her. "Keep out of the mater's way," he acknowledged,
"she would have seven fits."

"Why?" asked Joan.

"Why," he repeated, "good Lord, you don't know the mater. She----"

Joan interrupted. "You are ashamed of me," she spoke quickly, her face
had flushed. "You have always been a little ashamed of me. You have
never really looked at it as I did. I thought----" she broke off and
turned away from him, stupid hot tears were blinding her eyes, she did
not want to cry, it was so useless and childish.

Gilbert stuffed his mother's letter into his pocket and rose to his
feet, stretching a little as he moved.

"Don't be ridiculous, kiddie," he said, "you must see it would not do
for you to meet the mater. She is old-fashioned and--well, she would not
understand."

"We could make her understand," Joan whispered, "if she saw we both
really meant it."

"Well, I don't want you to try," he answered bluntly.

"Don't you feel the same about me as if I were your wife?" She knew he
was close beside her, but she did not turn to look at him.

Gilbert put an arm round her and drew her close. "Of course I do," he
said, "but mother wouldn't. One does not exactly introduce one's mother
to one's mistress."

The inclination to tears had left Joan, a very set calm had taken its
place. Suddenly she knew, as she stood there stiff held within the
circle of his arms, that it was all ended. The dream, if it had been a
dream, was finished, she could not live in it any longer.

"Very well," she agreed listlessly. "I will see about going away, the
place shall be all ready for her to-morrow."

She moved away from him, he did not notice how purposely she shook the
touch of his hands from off her.

CHAPTER III

"Out of my dreams,
I fashioned a flower;
Nursed it within my heart,
Thought it my dower.
What wind is this that creeps within and blows
Roughly away the petals of my rose?"

M. P.