's hand jerked suddenly, spilling a few drops of the
milk.

"Peter?" She strove to keep all expression out of her voice.

"Yes. He finds he can come after all. Isn't it jolly?"

"Very jolly."

Nan's tones were so non-committal that Kitty looked at her with some
surprise.

"Aren't you pleased?" she asked blankly. She was relying tremendously
on Peter's visit to restore Nan to normal, and to prevent her from
making the big mistake of marrying Roger Trenby, so that the lukewarm
reception accorded to her news gave her a qualm of apprehension lest
his advent might not accomplish all she hoped.

"Of course I'm pleased!" Nan forced the obviously expected enthusiasm
into her affirmative, then, swallowing the last mouthful of milk with
an effort, she added: "It'll be topping."

Kitty took the glass from her and with an admonishing, "Now try and
have a good sleep," she departed, blissfully unconscious of how
effectually she herself had just destroyed any possibility of slumber.

Peter coming! The first thrill of pure joy at the thought of seeing
him again was succeeded by a rush of apprehension. She felt herself
caught up into a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The idea of
marriage with Roger Trenby seemed even more impossible than ever with
the knowledge that in a few days Peter would be there, close beside her
with that quiet, comprehending gaze of his, while every nerve in her
body would be vibrating at the mere touch of his hand.

In the dusk of her room, against the shadowy background of the
blind-drawn windows, she could visualise each line of his face--the
level brows and the steady, grey-blue eyes under them--eyes that missed
so little and understood so much; the sensitive mouth with those rather
tired lines cleft each side of it that deepened when he smiled; the
lean cheek-bones and squarish chin.

She remembered them all, and they kept blotting out the picture of
Roger as she had so often seen him--big and bronzed by the sun--when he
came striding over the cliffs to Mallow Court. The memory was like a
hand holding her back from casting in her lot with him.

And then the pendulum swung back and she felt that to marry--someone,
anyone--was the only thing left to her. She was frightened of her love
for Peter. Marriage, she argued, would be--_must_ be--a shield and
buckler against the cry of her heart. If she were married she would be
able to stifle her love, crush it out, behind those solid, unyi