king quite worn out," remarked Mrs. Merston. "Why did
you let your husband drag you over here? You had better stay the
night and have a rest."

But Sylvia hastened to decline this invitation with much decision.
"I couldn't possibly do that, thank you. There is so much to be
seen to at home. It is very kind of you, but please don't suggest
it to Burke!"

Mrs. Merston gave her an odd look. "Do you always do as your
husband tells you!" she said. "What a mistake!"

Sylvia blushed very deeply. "I think--one ought," she said in a
low voice.

"How old-fashioned of you!" said Mrs. Merston. "I don't indulge
mine to that extent. Are you going to Brennerstadt for the races
next month? Or has the oracle decreed that you are to stay behind?"

"I don't know. I didn't know there were any." Sylvia looked out
through the mauve-coloured twilight to where Burke stood talking
with Merston by one of the hideous corrugated iron cattle-sheds.
The Merstons' farm certainly did not compare favourably with
Burke's. She could not actively condemn Mrs. Merston's obvious
distaste for all that life held for her. So far as she could see,
there was not a tree on the place, only the horrible prickly pear
bushes thrusting out their distorted arms as if exulting in their
own nakedness.

They had had their tea in front of the bungalow, if it could be
dignified by such a name. It was certainly scarcely more than an
iron shed, and the heat within during the day was, she could well
imagine, almost unbearable. It was time to be starting back, and
she wished Burke would come. Her hostess's scoffing reference to
him made her long to get away. Politeness, however, forbade her
summarily to drop the subject just started.

"Do you go to Brennerstadt for the races?" she asked.

"I?" said Mrs. Merston, and laughed again her caustic, mirthless
laugh. "No! My acquaintance with Brennerstadt is of a less
amusing nature. When I go there, I merely go to be ill, and as
soon as I am partially recovered, I come back--to this." There was
inexpressible bitterness in her voice. "Some day," she said, '"I
shall go there to die. That is all I have to look forward to now."

"Oh, don't!" Sylvia said, with quick feeling. "Don't, please! You
shouldn't feel like that."

Mrs. Merston's face was twisted in a painful smile. She looked
into the girl's face with a kind of cynical pity. "You will come
to it," she said. "Life isn't what it was to you ev