upon her rival's face, she found it notable....
Valerie set her white teeth. That its beauty was a mask hiding some
dreadful influence, made her heart faint within her....

Yet, if this fainted, it always revived. Valerie French was
well-plucked. If it was ordained that she should fight with Black
Magic, with Black Magic she would fight. It was her own fault.... It
was typical of the girl that the fact that she had already paid very
heavily never once occurred to her. She had called the tune without
asking how much it would cost. That the piper's bill was so long was
due to her recklessness. She did not dispute the account.

For the hundredth time she wondered what line Gramarye would take....

It seemed, mercifully, that the fell influence of the estate was not to
have things all its own way. While the sick man in his delirium talked
much of Gramarye, he spoke of Valerie too--frequently. For hours
together, sometimes, he dwelt upon their love. As a rule, he debated
with himself whether it was fair to her to let her see him again.
(Listening to these heart-searchings, Valerie's heart burned within
her.) Then he would call his Sealyham and speak to him of the lady,
asking if she were not wonderful and a sight for sore eyes. "When she
calls you, Patch, aren't you proud of your name? And she took your
head in her hands to-day. I saw her. Such sweet, pretty hands....
And you looked in her eyes, Patch, and then you licked her nose--very
gently, like a good little dog...." Then, again, Anthony's life as a
footman was often remembered. Mr. and Mrs. Bumble were gratefully
discussed. The Alisons--George especially--figured constantly. Even
his life in the Army was sometimes mentioned, and other older days,
hard to identify.... Gramarye held a good hand--undoubtedly: but there
were other cards in the pack.

The door opened noiselessly, and a fresh-faced nurse stole into the
darkened room. Valerie and she exchanged whispers, and, after another
glance at the silent figure upon the bed, the lady of Bell Hammer gave
place to the professional and made her way slowly downstairs.

* * * * *

It was past three o'clock of a sullen March afternoon when Mr. Peter
Every dismissed his parade.

The men turned away listlessly, hollow-eyed.

Only the little lame engineer said anything at all, and that was an
inaudible communication to the three great sailors, whose hearing was
gone. Gloo