s Enid Crofton's ideal of what a lover, even a
husband, should be, and she had never liked any man as well, she knew
with a painful, practical knowledge the meaning of the words "genteel
poverty." Tremaine's regiment would not remain for ever in India, and
then would begin the enforced economies, the weary struggle with an
inadequate income she had known with Colonel Crofton. No, no--it wasn't
good enough!--or at any rate not good enough as long as there was a hope
of anything better. Even so, it was comfortable to know that Harold
Tremaine would still be there, a second string to her bow, in six months'
or a year's time.

It was of all this that she thought, a little despondently, as she
settled herself down in the easy chair close to the little wood fire.
In a few moments her supper would be brought in by her pleasant-faced,
rosy-cheeked parlourmaid. Enid Crofton was dainty and particular as to
her food. The bad cooking she had had to endure during those miserable
months she had spent in Essex, after her husband had been demobilised,
had proved a very real addition to her other troubles.

She had brought a nice sweetbread with her from London yesterday, and she
was now looking forward to having it for her supper.

All at once there came a ring at the front door, and a feeling of keen,
angry annoyance shot through her. Of course it was Jack--Jack again! He
would ask tiresome, inconvenient questions about the mythical woman
friend, the almost sister, for whom she had required the money, and she
would have to make up tiresome, inconvenient lies. Also he would want to
kiss her, and she did so want her dinner!

She stood up--and then the door opened and, instead of Jack, Timmy
Tosswill came through it. For the first time in their acquaintance she
was glad to see the boy, though she told herself that of course he had
brought her a letter--another of those odious, reproachful letters from
Jack.

"Good evening, Timmy," she spoke, as she always did speak, pleasantly.
"Have you brought me a message from Rosamund? I hope she hasn't thrown me
over? I'm expecting her to lunch to-morrow, you know."

"I didn't know," he said gravely, "and I've not brought a message from
anyone, Mrs. Crofton. My coming is a secret."

"A secret?" Again she spoke easily, jokingly; but there came over her a
strange, involuntary feeling of repulsion for the odd-looking child.

He came up close to her, and, putting his hands behind his back, began