f a rose tapped now and again at the window as though
bidding her come out and share in the glory of the summer's day. She had
slept far into the morning--the deep, dreamless slumber of utter mental
and physical exhaustion. And now, waking, she stared about her
bewilderedly, unable at first to recall where she was or what had
happened.

But that blessed lack of realisation did not last for long. Almost
immediately the recollection of all that had occurred yesterday rushed
over her with stunning force, and the sunlight, the bird song, and that
futile rose tapping softly there against the window-pane, seemed stupidly
incongruous.

Nan felt she almost hated them. Only a few hours before she had said
good-bye to the man she loved. Not good-bye for a month or a year, but
for the rest of life. Possibly, at some distant time, they might chance
to meet at the house of a mutual friend, but they would meet merely as
acquaintances, never again as lovers. Triumphing in spirit over the
desire of the heart, they had taken their farewell of love--bowed to the
destiny which had made of that love a forbidden thing.

But last night, even through the anguish of farewell, they had been
unconsciously upheld by a feeling of exultation--that strange ecstasy of
sacrifice which sometimes fires frail human beings to live up to the god
that is within them.

To-day the inevitable reaction had succeeded and only the bleak, bitter
facts remained. Nan faced them squarely, though it called for all the
pluck of which she was possessed. Peter had gone, and throughout the
years that stretched ahead she saw herself travelling through life step
by step with Roger, living the same dull existence year in, year out,
till at last, when they were both too old for anything to matter very
much--too supine for romance to send the quick blood racing through their
veins, too dull of sight to perceive the glamour and glory of the
world--merciful death would step in and take one or other of them away.

She shivered a little with youth's instinctive dread of the time when age
shall quieten the bounding pulses, slowly but surely taking the savour
out of things. She wanted to live first, to gather up the joy of life
with both hands. . . .

Her thoughts were suddenly scattered by the sound of the opening door and
the sight of Mrs. Seymour's inquiring face peeping round it.

"Awake?" queried Kitty.

With a determined mental effort Nan pulled herself toge