bedience
you remember, and what moved you to it?"

Nan, who knew a good deal more about psycho-analysis than Mrs. Hilary
did, laughed curtly.

"No good, mother. That won't work on me. I'm not susceptible to the
treatment. Too hard-headed. What was Mr. Cradock's next brain-wave?"

"Oh well, if you take it like this, what's the use...."

"None at all. I advise you not to bother yourself. It will only make your
headache worse.... Now I think after all this excitement you had better
go and lie down, don't you? I'm going out, anyhow."

Then Stephen Lumley knocked at the door and came in. A tall, slouching
hollow-chested man of forty, who looked unhappy and yet cynically
amused at the world. He had a cough, and unusually bright eyes under
overhanging brows.

Nan said, "This is Stephen Lumley, mother. My mother, Stephen," and left
them to do the rest, watching, critical and aloof, to see how they would
manage the situation.

Mrs. Hilary managed it by rising from her chair and standing rigidly in
the middle of the room, breathing hard and staring. Stephen Lumley looked
enquiringly at Nan.

"How do you do, Mrs. Hilary," he said. "I expect you're pretty well
played out by that beastly journey, aren't you."

Mrs. Hilary's voice came stifled, choked, between pants. She was working
up; or rather worked up: Nan knew the symptoms.

"You dare to come into my presence.... I must ask you to leave my
daughter's sitting-room _immediately_. I have come to take her back to
England with me at once. Please go. There is nothing that can possibly be
said between you and me--nothing."

Stephen Lumley, a cool and quiet person, raised his brows, looked enquiry
once more at Nan, found no answer, said, "Well, then, I'll say good-bye,"
and departed.

Mrs. Hilary wrung her hands together.

"How dare he! How dare he! Into my very presence! He has no shame...."

Nan watched her coolly. But a red spot had begun to burn in each cheek at
her mother's opening words to Lumley, and still burned. Mrs. Hilary knew
of old that still-burning, deadly anger of Nan's.

"Thank you, mother. You've helped me to make up my mind. I'm going to
Capri with Stephen next week. I've refused up till now. He was going
without me. You've made up my mind for me. You can tell Mr. Cradock that
if he asks."

Nan was fiercely, savagely desirous to hurt. In the same spirit she had
doubtless thrown her shoes at Mrs. Hilary thirty years ago. Rage and
disgust, hot rebe