fact of his marriage, which was
yet no marriage, and sure that there was no chance of his hurting Nan,
he let himself love her, keeping his love tenderly in one of those
secret empty rooms of the heart--empty rooms of which only the
thrice-blessed in this world have no knowledge.

Outwardly, all that Peter permitted himself was to give her an
unfailing friendship, to surround her with an atmosphere of homage and
protection and adapt himself responsively to her varying moods. This
he did untiringly, demanding nothing in return--and he alone knew the
bitter effort it cost him.

Gradually Nan began to lean upon him, finding in the restfulness of
such a friendship the healing of which she stood in need. She worked
at her music with suddenly renewed enthusiasm, secure in the knowledge
that Peter was always at hand to help and criticise with kindly,
unerring judgment. She ceased to rail at fate and almost learned to
bring a little philosophy--the happy philosophy of laughter--to bear
upon the ills of life.

Consciously she thought of him only as Peter--Peter, her good pal--and
so long as the pleasant, even course of their friendship remained
uninterrupted she was never likely to realise that something bigger and
more enduring than mere comradeship lay at the back of it all. She,
too, like Mallory, reassured herself with the fact of his
marriage--though the wife she had never seen and of whom Peter never
spoke had inevitably receded in her mind into a somewhat vague and
nebulous personality.

"Well?" demanded Kitty triumphantly one day. "And what is your opinion
of Peter Mallory now?"

As she spoke, she caressed with light finger-tips a bowl of sun-gold
narcissus--Mallory habitually kept the Edenhall flat supplied with
flowers.

"We're frankly grateful to you for introducing him," replied Penelope.
"He's been an absolute godsend all through this hateful long winter."

"What's so perfect about him," added Nan, "is that he never jars on
one. He's never Philistine."

"In fact," interpolated Penelope somewhat ruefully, "he's so far from
being Philistine that he has a dreadful faculty for making me feel
deplorably commonplace."

Kitty gurgled.

"What rubbish! I'm sure nothing in the world would make Peter more
unhappy than to think he affected anyone like that. He's the least
assuming and most tender-hearted soul I know. You may be common-sense,
Penny dear, but you're not in the least commonplace. They're