s at last
he left the room. "He is losing his Britishness every day he stays here."

"Been through rough times, they say," another remarked.

"He is one of those," an elder member pronounced, taking his pipe for a
moment from his mouth, "who was never made for happiness. You can always
read those men. You can see it behind their eyes."

Nevertheless, Philip walked home a saner and a better man. He felt
somehow warmed by those few hours of companionship. The senseless part of
his jealousy was gone, his trust in Elizabeth reestablished. He looked at
the note once more as he undressed. At eleven o'clock on the following
morning in her rooms!

CHAPTER VII

Something of his overnight's optimism remained with Philip when at eleven
o'clock on the following morning he was ushered into Elizabeth's rooms.
It was a frame of mind, however, which did not long survive his
reception. From the moment of his arrival, he seemed to detect a
different atmosphere in his surroundings,--the demeanour of Phoebe, his
staunch ally, who admitted him without her usual welcoming smile; the
unanalysable sense of something wanting in the dainty little room,
overfilled with strong-smelling, hothouse flowers in the entrance and
welcome of Elizabeth herself. His eyes had ached for the sight of her.
He was so sure that he would know everything the moment she spoke.
Yet her coming brought only confusion to his senses. She was
different--unexpectedly, bewilderingly different. She had lost that
delicate serenity of manner, that almost protective affection which he
had grown to lean upon and expect. She entered dressed for the street,
smoking a cigarette, which was in itself unusual, with dark rings under
her eyes, which seemed to be looking all around the room on some
pretext or other, but never at him.

"Am I late?" she asked, a little breathlessly. "I am so sorry. Tell me,
have you anything particular to do?"

"Nothing," he answered.

"I want to go out of the city--into the country, at once," she told him
feverishly. "The car is waiting. I ordered it for a quarter to eleven.
Let us start."

"Of course, if you wish it," he assented.

He opened the door but before she passed through he leaned towards her.
She shook her head. His heart sank. What could there be more ominous
than this!

"I am not well," she muttered. "Don't take any notice of anything I say
or do for a little time. I am like this sometimes--temperamental, I
suppose. All gre