long, my dear."

Laura came.

There lay a young man, fast asleep--sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that
he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so remote, so peaceful. He was
dreaming. Never wake him up again. His head was sunk in the pillow, his
eyes were closed; they were blind under the closed eyelids. He was given
up to his dream. What did garden-parties and baskets and lace frocks
matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful,
beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing,
this marvel had come to the lane. Happy... happy... All is well, said that
sleeping face. This is just as it should be. I am content.

But all the same you had to cry, and she couldn't go out of the room
without saying something to him. Laura gave a loud childish sob.

"Forgive my hat," she said.

And this time she didn't wait for Em's sister. She found her way out of
the door, down the path, past all those dark people. At the corner of
the lane she met Laurie.

He stepped out of the shadow. "Is that you, Laura?"

"Yes."

"Mother was getting anxious. Was it all right?"

"Yes, quite. Oh, Laurie!" She took his arm, she pressed up against him.

"I say, you're not crying, are you?" asked her brother.

Laura shook her head. She was.

Laurie put his arm round her shoulder. "Don't cry," he said in his warm,
loving voice. "Was it awful?"

"No," sobbed Laura. "It was simply marvellous. But Laurie--" She
stopped, she looked at her brother. "Isn't life," she stammered, "isn't
life--" But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He quite
understood.

"Isn't it, darling?" said Laurie.

3. THE DAUGHTERS OF THE LATE COLONEL.

Chapter 3.I.

The week after was one of the busiest weeks of their lives. Even when
they went to bed it was only their bodies that lay down and rested;
their minds went on, thinking things out, talking things over,
wondering, deciding, trying to remember where...

Constantia lay like a statue, her hands by her sides, her feet just
overlapping each other, the sheet up to her chin. She stared at the
ceiling.

"Do you think father would mind if we gave his top-hat to the porter?"

"The porter?" snapped Josephine. "Why ever the porter? What a very
extraordinary idea!"

"Because," said Constantia slowly, "he must often have to go to
funerals. And I noticed at--at the cemetery that he only had a bowler."
She paused. "I thought then how very much he'd appreciate a to