that the joy of both parents centred in that one
little life; no jesting could disguise the ring of love and pride in
both voices as they spoke of Dickie. She recalled the instinctive,
protective love clearly visible in tone and gesture as the two anxious
souls had striven to give courage to each other. The eternal trinity
of love--husband and wife and child--and the greater the love the
greater the risk of sorrow and of loss. Ah! that might be so, but who
would grudge the risk in the greater possession?

She put her empty cup on a table beside her, and folding her hands
behind her head leaned back in her chair as thought after thought came
crowding into her mind.

Her surroundings affected her--the ancient house with its atmosphere of
the past--of people dead and gone--of joy and sorrow ever blending in
lives lived out for good or ill. The weapons on the walls--the faded
banners, relics of warfare, now hanging limp and tattered beneath the
weight of years in this hall of peace--the peace of an English home.
Home! The word had held no meaning for her of late. While her father
had been alive, home to her had been with him, but even then it had no
abiding-place; and since then, the charming apartment in Paris or the
villa at Cannes with all their comfort and luxury seemed but to mock
the word.

"No," she mused, "home for me should be England."

England and home, surely synonymous terms. And then, suddenly, a
feeling of intense loneliness broke over her like a wave. She felt
like a bit of driftwood, cast up upon a summer shore where flowers and
verdure smiled on every side and all was peace; but at the next tide,
once more the waters would engulf her and drag her back to the
sparkling, restless ocean. She smiled to herself at the foolish simile
even as she thought of it. It was absurd to compare the gay life to
which she had been accustomed to an engulfing ocean; but never mind,
for once she would give her thoughts a free rein and be honest with
herself, and acknowledge that the life she had lived was utterly
unsatisfying to her.

Was it merely the boredom of a blasee woman? Surely it was something
deeper than that which she felt. Now, to state her case fairly--to
balance the pros and cons--what had she to complain of? Was it
reasonless discontent? She hoped not. Why, she had all, or nearly all
that counts as the world reckons for happiness--youth, looks,
intelligence to enjoy, money--surely a goodly a