like his usual "home" voice that Radmore hardly recognised it:--

"I'm so glad you're downstairs. I came this morning I hope you got
my--" and then he saw the other man, and checked himself abruptly.

He had given the beloved woman he regarded as his future wife, his most
solemn word of honour that no one should suspect that they were more than
mere acquaintances. So, after a perceptible pause, he concluded, lamely,
"my step-mother's message."

"Yes, I did; thank you very much."

He saw that she had been crying, and his heart welled up with tenderness,
and with angry, impatient annoyance against Radmore's presence.

Why didn't the stupid fellow go? Surely he must realise, surely there
must be something in the atmosphere, which must tell even the blindest of
onlookers, how things were between him, Jack Tosswill, and the invalid?

But Radmore was quite impervious to the atmosphere of emotion and
strain--or so it seemed. On and on he sat, Enid Crofton languidly making
conversation with them both in turn, until at last Rosamund came in, and
both men rose to leave together.

And then something curious happened. Radmore, even while conscious that
he was a fool, felt a violent desire to see Enid Crofton again and very
soon, alone. He was trying to make up a form of words to convey this to
her before the other two, when good fortune seemed to favour him, for
brother and sister began--as they were wont to do--wrangling together.

Seeing his opportunity he bent down a little over Mrs. Crofton's couch in
order to suggest to her that he should come again to-morrow. And then, in
a flash, the whole expression of his face altered and stiffened. Half
under the lace coverlet over the eiderdown a letter written on familiar
looking pale grey notepaper was sticking out, and he couldn't help
seeing the words:--"My own darling angel."

Straightening himself quickly and hardly knowing what he was saying, he
exclaimed, "I do hope you'll soon feel all right again."

And then he saw that she was aware of what had happened for she became
even whiter than she had been before. Every bit of colour fled from her
face--except for the unnaturally pink lips.

CHAPTER XXIII

As he walked away from The Trellis House Radmore felt terribly disturbed,
and maddened with himself for feeling so disturbed.

After all, Enid Crofton meant very little to him! He even told himself
that he had never really liked, still less respected, her and yet