ow_. But Lionel, poor Lionel, had always
had an almost morbid wish to be liked--to stand well with people, so she
told herself with a strange feeling of pain at her heart.

They walked back together into the house, and Blanche, going over to the
fire-place, poured herself out another cup of tea.

In a sense she still felt as if she was living through a terrible,
unreal dream, and yet it was an unutterable relief to be no longer
obliged to pretend.

She glanced furtively at Varick.

He looked calm, cheerful, collected. "Will you excuse me for a few
moments? I have got several things to do," he said. "Then I think I will
go out and tramp about for a bit. It's been a strain for you as well as
for me, Blanche," he added sympathetically.

"Yes, it has," she answered almost inaudibly.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked. "Will you be quite
comfortable?"

She repeated, mechanically: "Quite comfortable, thank you, Lionel," and
then, as an after-thought: "I suppose we shall dine at the same time as
usual?"

"Certainly--why not?" He looked puzzled at her question. "Let me
see--it's not much after five now; I'll be back by seven."

He walked to the door, and from there turned round. "So long!" he cried
out cheerily, and she was surprised, for Varick seldom made use of any
slang or colloquialism.

Feeling all at once utterly exhausted and spent, she drew a deep chair
forward to the fire and lay back in it. Her mind seemed completely to
empty itself of thought. She neither remembered the past nor considered
the future, and very soon she slipped off into a deep sleep--the sleep
of exhaustion which so often follows a great mental strain.

* * * * *

It must have been over an hour later that Blanche seemed to awaken to a
perception that the big oak door behind her, which gave access to the
deep-eaved porch, had opened and closed.

She looked round; and, in the candle-light, for the fire had died down,
she saw Varick, looking neither to the right nor to the left, walk
quickly across the long room and slip noiselessly through the door
leading to the interior of the house.

Then it was seven o'clock? Nearly three-quarters of an hour before she
must go up and dress for dinner.

Almost at once she was asleep again, to be, however, thoroughly awakened
a few moments later by the opening and the shutting of a door.

It was the old butler, a man Blanche had come to like and to respect.