u see," said Fleur.

June handed back the letter.

"That's not fair to Irene; she always told Jon he could do as he
wished."

Fleur smiled bitterly. "Didn't she spoil your life too?"

"Nobody can spoil a life, my dear. That's nonsense. Things happen, but
we bob up."

Then with a sort of terror she saw the girl sink on her knees and bury
her face in the djibbah, with a strangled sob.

"It's all right--all right," June murmured: "Don't! There, there!"

But the point of the girl's chin was pressed ever closer into her
thigh, and the sound was dreadful of her sobbing. Well, well! It had to
come. She would feel better afterwards! June stroked the short hair of
that shapely head and all the scattered mother-sense in her focussed
itself and passed through the tips of her fingers into the girl's brain.

"Don't sit down under it, my dear," she said at last. "We can't control
life, but we can fight it. Make the best of things. I've had to. I held
on, like you; and I cried, as you're crying now. And look at me!"

Fleur raised her head; a sob merged suddenly into a little choked
laugh. In truth it was a thin and rather wild and wasted spirit she was
looking at, but it had brave eyes.

"All right!" she said. "I'm sorry. I shall forget him, I suppose, if I
fly fast and far enough."

And, scrambling to her feet, she went over to the washstand.

June watched her removing with cold water the traces of emotion. Save
for a little becoming pinkness there was nothing left when she stood
before the mirror. June got off the bed and took a pin-cushion in her
hand. To put two pins into the wrong places was all the vent she found
for sympathy.

"Give me a kiss," she said when Fleur was ready, and dug her chin into
the girl's warm cheek.

"I want a whiff," said Fleur; "don't wait."

June left her, sitting on the bed with a cigarette between her lips and
her eyes half closed, and went down-stairs. In the doorway of the
drawing-room stood Soames as if unquiet at his daughter's tardiness.
June tossed her head and passed down on to the half landing. Her cousin
Francie was standing there.

"Look!" said June, pointing with her chin at Soames. "That man's fatal!"

"How do you mean," said Francie, "fatal?"

June did not answer her. "I shan't wait to see them off," she said.
"Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" And Francie's eyes, of a Celtic grey, goggled. That old
feud! Really, it was quite romantic!

Soames, moving to the well of the stai