ied Kitty
good-humouredly. "But what will you do when you have to _live_ in
those rooms?"

"Why, I shall alter them completely, of course. I foresee myself
making the Hall 'livable in' throughout the first decade of my married
existence!"--with a small grimace of disgust.

A few minutes later Nan was speeding along the road to Tintagel, the
cool air, salt with brine from the incoming tide, tingling against her
face.

In less than the stipulated half-hour she had reached the village--that
bleak, depressing-looking village, with its miscellany of dull little
houses, through which one must pass, as through some dreary gateway, to
reach the wild, sea-girt beauty of the coast itself. Leaving her cycle
in charge at a cottage, Nan set out briskly on foot down the steep hill
that led to the shore. She was conscious of an imperative need for
movement. She must either cycle, or walk, or climb, in order to keep
at bay the nervous dread with which her visit to Trenby had inspired
her. It had given her a picture of Roger's home and surroundings--a
brief, enlightening glimpse as to the kind of life she might look
forward to when she had married him.

It was all very different from what she had anticipated. Even Roger
himself seemed different in the environment of his home--less
spontaneous, less the adoring lover. Lady Gertrude's influence
appeared to dominate the whole house and everyone in it. But, as Nan
realised, she had given her promise to Roger, and too much hung on that
promise for her to break it now--Penelope's happiness, and her own
craving to shut herself away in safety, to bind herself so that she
could never again break free.

Her unexpected meeting with Peter the previous evening had shown her
once and for all the imperative need for this. The clasp of his hand,
the strong hold of his arms about her as he bore her across the stream,
the touch of his lips against her hair--the memory of these things had
been with her all night. She had tried to thrust them from her, but
they refused to be dismissed. More than once she had buried her hot
face in the coolness of the pillows, conscious of a sudden tremulous
thrill that ran like fire through all her veins.

And that Peter, too, knew they stood on dangerous quicksands when they
were alone together, she was sure. This morning, beyond a
briefly-worded greeting at breakfast, he had hardly spoken to her,
carefully avoiding her, though without seeming to do s