from him.

"What are you talking of, mother! Do you mean that Beatty has been ill?"

"She died last night. Roger--my darling son--my poor Roger!"

"Died--last night--Beatty?"

French in silence handed him the telegram. Roger disengaged himself and
walked to the fireplace, standing motionless, with his back to them, for
a minute, while they held their breaths. Then he began to grope again
for his hat, without a word.

"Come home with me, Roger!" implored his mother, pursuing him. "We must
bear it--bear it together. You see--she didn't suffer"--she pointed to
the message--"the darling!--the darling!"

Her voice lost itself in tears. But Roger brushed her away, as though
resenting her emotion, and made for the door.

French also put out a hand.

"Roger, dear, dear old fellow! Stay here with us--with your mother.
Where are you going?"

Roger looked at his watch unsteadily.

"The office will be closed," he said to himself; "but I can put some
things together."

"Where are you going, Roger?" cried Lady Barnes, pursuing him. Roger
faced her.

"It's Tuesday. There'll be a White Star boat to-morrow."

"But, Roger, what can you do? She's gone, dear--she's gone. And before
you can get there--long before--she will be in her grave."

A spasm passed over his face, into which the colour rushed. Without
another word he wrenched himself from her, opened the front door, and
ran out into the night.

CHAPTER X

"Was there ever anything so poetic, so suggestive?" said a charming
voice. "One might make a new Turner out of it--if one just happened to
be Turner!--to match 'Rain: Steam, and Speed.'"

"What would you call it--'Mist, Light, and Spring'?"

Captain Boyson leant forward, partly to watch the wonderful landscape
effect through which the train was passing, partly because his young
wife's profile, her pure cheek and soft hair, were so agreeably seen
under the mingled light from outside.

They were returning from their wedding journey. Some six weeks before
this date Boyson had married in Philadelphia a girl coming from one of
the old Quaker stocks of that town, in whose tender steadfastness of
character a man inclined both by nature and experience to expect little
from life had found a happiness that amazed him.

The bridegroom, also, had just been appointed to the Military
Attacheship at the Berlin Embassy, and the couple were, in fact, on
their way south to New York and embarkation. But there were sti