Sara Seale - Beggars May Sing [Harlequin Romance 51218]

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A Beggar may sing before a Pickpocket.

Old Proverb.



Beggars May Sing

Sara Seale

CHAPTER I



I

SEBASTIAN began to play the Dead March in Saul very loudly. Almost at once, one of the doorswhich opened on to the gallery above him banged, and a girl, wearing nothing but a man's old bath-robe,leaned over the banisters, her thick red hair falling wildly over her face.

"Who's it for?" she inquired fiercely.

Her brother looked up at her and grinned. "The Judge is coming," he said.

"Oh, lord!" She came slowly down the stairs, clutching her bath-robe tightly round her, its superfluousfolds trailing behind. She swung herself on to the grand piano, and thrusting out a long thin leg, shecontemplated the old slipper dangling from her bare foot. "I'm in rags," she remarked irrelevantly. "What'she coming for? It isn't Friday."

He shrugged, introduced a vein of syncopation into the Dead March, and said regretfully, "Sebastianfails to take his scholarship. Georgina aids and abets.Argal : Cane for Sebastian, gruel for Georgina."

"Oh, lord!" she said again.

She crossed her arms, in their enveloping sleeves, tightly over her narrow chest, and frowned heavily.When she frowned, she looked like a young witch, with her pointed chin thrust forward and her shortflaming hair springing from a high, rather delicate forehead. She shared with Sebastian the tilted eyes andbitter-sweetmouth which were the characteristics of all the Gales, but her whole body had a nervous,half-suppressed air of tension which his entirely lacked. He had about him an alive awareness whichmade him a charming companion when he chose, but he took life more easily, charmed with less effortthan did his sister.

Gina said slowly, "Yes, they do treat us like that."

"Rot, I call it," Sebastian remarked good-naturedly.

"Well, I don't know. I do feel most frightfully old at times, but I'm nineteen really; you're eighteen, so Isuppose to them we must seem quite young," she said, and frowned more deeply.

Sebastian began playing a waltz, an elaboration of his first theme, breaking off halfway with a quick,"No—like this," and repeating a phrase with a fresh harmony. When he had finished, he lifted his broadsquare-tipped hands from the keys and looked expectantly at his sister."Any good?"

"Yes, good, but change to the major in the last phrase, and then back again to the minor in the last bar.That'll give it a twist."

"Clever little Ginny," he said, using his old nick-name for her, then tried the waltz again with the newvariation.



"Can't you make Julie see that this is what you must do instead of wasting time at Oxford?" Gina saidimpatiently when he had finished. "She generally listens to you. If you could get her on your side, theJudge might be more amenable instead of making our lives a burden to us."

"Oh, I like old Mark," said Sebastian easily. "After all, he has a lot to put up with, I suppose."

She was silent, then burst out suddenly, "I wish we'd never come to live here."

"Why, darling?It's much more comfortable than living on nothing a year."

"I know. But always under some obligation."

"Oh, I don't look at it like that at all. The Judge had the house on his hands. His uncle might just as wellhave left it to Julie, anyway, only he didn't.Much better to have Julie running it for him. After all, she's hisown sister, and since she would marry Father, we have to come too."

"That's what seems so rotten."

"Rubbish! Mark has money, we haven't. It's a very good arrangement. I could always have told Juliethat our father would die insolvent. She doesn't complain."

Gina was still speculative. "Julie's still very good-looking," she remarked thoughtfully.

"I always said so," retorted her brother.

"But not in the least 'appealing withal," she continued calmly.

"Oh well, that depends on how you look at these things. A little unimaginative perhaps—a lack ofsubtlety now and again, but still—the good Victor has his ideas, anyway."

"Oh, that bounder!I can't think why she doesn't see it. But she likes the man!" Gina exclaimed. "Oh, goon, darling! That's going to be good. Play it again."

They became engrossed in the music, inventing ridiculous rhymes to fit it and shouting with laughter ateach new absurdity.

It was already after half-past seven, and the July evening was resolving into the chilly, rather depressinggrey-ness that characterized the end of most of the days of that wet summer. Gina was just beginning toshiver a little when she heard the sound of a car drawing up outside, and a few minutes later the frontdoor opened to admit the tall figure of a man carrying a suit-case.

Sebastian stopped playing abruptly, and they both turned to stare at the newcomer, who put down hissuit-case, threw his hat and gloves on to a table and advanced into the hall, limping slightly as he walked.

"Hullo! Still at it?" he remarked.

The little silence which followed was curiously hostile,then Sebastian laughed. "Hullo, Mark," he saideasily, but he shut down the lid of the piano with a gesture of finality.

"You'll be late for dinner if you don't go and change soon," Mark said, and as he turned to Gina sitting



motionless on the piano-top, the long bath-robe slipping off her bare shoulders, his voice becamesuddenly warmer. "Well, Gina? You look like an Augustus John model! A garment of mine, I see."

She flushed faintly. "Mine's in holes," she said quickly.

"Is it? I'm sorry. Ask Julie to get you another," he said.

At that moment a dark graceful young woman leaned over the banisters above them and called Gina'sname. She sounded very angry.

"You left your bath running—it must have been ages ago, and it's overflowed and the whole place isflooded. It's coming through underneath," she said sharply. "Really, Gina, you might think!"

"Gripes!" said Gina, and leapt off the piano.

"I wish you wouldn't say 'Christ,'" Mark said quickly.

She wheeled round on him with hot cheeks. "I didn't! I said 'cripes,' and I got it from Sweeny," shecried furiously, and tanup the stairs as fast as her draperies would let her.

Mark watched her disappear,then turned with a slight shrug. "Stupid of me," he said quietly.

Sebastian got to his feet and stretched. "She's been known to say it all the same," he remarked with agrin, and followed his sister up the stairs.

II

The Barn House, 'as its name implied, was originally an old barn which had since been converted into ahouse. It was not a big house, and the rooms were all rather small, offering the unusual curiosity ofmaking nearly every door visible from the hall itself. Thus Sebastian, who always managed to effect achange of dress quicker than anyone else, was first down, and watched from his seat at the piano theother occupants of the house emerge from their rooms.

First Sweeny, groom-handyman, and on occasions cook-parlour-maid or anything else required of him,descended the stairs, having completed some errand or other. It was his day for waiting in thedining-room, since the maid was out, and he crossed the hall muttering to himself and shaking his head.Sweeny was beginning to look his age of late. He had never really settled down since they had broughthim with them from Ireland nearly two years ago.

Nextcame Julie, tall in her long black gown, still very good-looking, as Gina had remarked; probablymore handsome at thirty-four than she had ever been at twenty.

Mark followed soon after, tall and dark like his sister, but with a sensitiveness of face that she had never



possessed. Only a year made him Julie's senior, but he looked older, and his lameness made hismovements appear rather deliberate.

Last of all came Gina, very late and wearing an old frock which was too short for present fashion,making her look like a long-legged child as she flung herself violently down the staircase.

"The fish has been waitingthis fifteen minutes,mam . Will I give it a bit of a warm?" said Sweeny'splaintive voice from the dining-room door.

"Oh dear, Sweeny!You should have kept it in the kitchen until we came in. I'm always telling you that,"said Julie impatiently.

"Yes,mam .But cook locked the door on me,mam . Will you ate now,mam ?"

"In England you have to say 'eat,' Sweeny," Gina said in a hoarse whisper as they went into thedining-room, and Julie frowned.

She glanced across at her brother at the opposite end of the table. "You look tired, Mark. Have youbeen working very hard lately?" she asked.

"Yes, I have been pretty busy," he admitted. "This arbitration case still goes on, and there are severalother things piling up as well."

"You lawyers must rake it in when you get going." Sebastian observed cheerfully. "I saw a picture ofyou in some paper the other day, Mark. Mr. Proctor, well-known counsel, etcetera, etcetera. Won't yoube taking silk soon?"

Mark smiled and shook his head."Not for many a year yet. Apart from anything else it costs money,you know," he said.

Sebastian made a small grimace and said, "The ever filthy lucre bars the way." But Gina, sitting silent onMark's right, looked up quickly from her plate, bit her lip and looked down again. Mark, whoseobservant eye missed very little, glanced at her sharply and changed the subject.

"It's cold tonight, so I had a fire lit in the study, Mark, 'and I thought we'd all sit there," Julie said as theyrose at the end of the meal.

She left the room, followed by Gina, and began to make coffee at a small spirit-lamp in Mark's study.She allowed the coffee to come twice to the boil before she said pleasantly to Gina:

"I asked Mark to come tonight specially, because I think he's stopping in town this week-end, and Iwant him to talk over this scholarship business with Sebastian." She poured out a cup of coffee andhanded it to the girl, lifting her dark eyes to Gina's for a moment. "I do want this thing discussed amicably,Gina," she went on, "so please, will you try not to interrupt or make things difficult in any way? Sebastianreally did rather disgrace himself in his exams, and some future arrangement has got to be made."

"Julie—I—you—can't we—" Gina began, but broke off abruptly to say quietly, "All right, I won't utter."She sat sipping her coffee and exchanging desultory small talk with her stepmother until Mark andSebastian joined them.

When Sweeny had finally taken away the coffee-cups, Mark filled a pipe and sat smoking in silence for



a little before tackling his subject. He didn't always enjoy the position which the recent re-arrangement ofhis household had thrust upon him.

"Now what about this scholarship?" he said at last.

Sebastian beamed. "Well, I just didn't get it," he said happily.

"I know. But why didn't you?"

Sebastian shrugged. "Idunno . Too stupid, I suppose."

"Nonsense!That's just what you aren't, and you know it as well as Ido ," said Mark brusquely, and leantforward in his chair. His grey eyes, as they looked directly at Sebastian, were the keen, penetrating eyesof a shrewd, very wide-awake man, and the boy began to fidget. "Now look here, Sebastian. I'm notgoing to say much about your performance. You have brains enough to get a scholarship easily, and yougave a bad exhibition which was entirely due to slackness and lack of concentration. But that's done withnow. You've finished with school and you must begin to make something of your life."

"Well, I haven't had a chance yet. Hang it, I'm not very old!" Sebastian expostulated.

"My dear, of course.We know that. But that's what we want to discuss now." Julie spoke pleasantlyand persuasively. She instinctively took more trouble with Sebastian than she did with Gina.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" he said a little resentfully.

"You must take your scholarship again in December for some other college," said Mark. "And this timethere must be no nonsense about winning it. You've got to get downto work , Sebastian. It shouldn't bedifficult for you. You've got over four months, and I'll coach you in the long vacation. I shall be at homemost of the time."

"Oh, lord!" groaned Sebastian, glancing across 'at Gina, who was crouching silently over the fire andsmoking endless cigarettes. "Why can't you let me alone, Mark? I'm not cut out for Oxford, really I'mnot."

"But, Sebastian, you've got to do something," said Julie quickly. "You don't seem to have any idea ofwhat you want to do eventually, and Oxford will give you time to readjust your ideas. You can't hangabout here all the time, making up your mind."

"I don't want to hang about. I want to go abroad," Sebastian said a little sulkily. "You know all about it,Julie."

"Oh, this jazz!I know that," she retorted. "That phase will pass; you can't expect us to take thatseriously."

Mark glanced across at his sister and raised an eyebrow slightly. "But the point is, Sebastian," he said,turning back to the boy, "I can't afford to keep you at Oxford, I'm afraid, unless you get a scholarship,and any other alternative such as going 'abroad is not catered for in that way."

"The point is, Sebastian," said Julie rather sharply, "that Mark is under no obligation to keep either ofyou."



"It isn't a question of that at all," Mark said rather impatiently. "Not an awfully kind way of putting iteither, Julie." He smiled at his sister. "I'm not a poor man, Sebastian, but I'm not rich either. There's thishouse to keep up, though it isn't large, and Julie runs it admirably. Then there's my flat in the Temple.Very tiny, it's true, but it all costs money. I do well enough at the Bar, but I'm not one of the big noises,and never will be. So you see,I'm afraid it is up to you to help a bit. It may seem a waste of time and abore to you, but you'll gain something by it all the same. What do you say?"

Sebastian laughed a little uncomfortably. "I've not much choice, have I?" he said, getting up and movingrestlessly about the room. "You've been awfully decent to us really, Mark."

Sweeny's melancholy face appeared round the door. "Dogsbodyhas taken a turn on your bed,mam ,"he said. "Will I change the blanket this night?"

Julie went to the door saying, "I'd better go and see to things," and Gina and Sebastian followed herwith alacrity.

Mark caught the girl's hand as she passed him, and said quickly, "No, not you, Gina. I want to speak toyou a moment."

"Me?" said Gina in startled tones, and watched with resignation the door closing finally upon the othertwo.

Mark knocked out his pipe and put it on the mantelpiece. He looked at the girl waiting nervously forhim to speak, and pictured her again as she was the first time he had ever seen her. She had beenfinishing her last year at a school in Dublin when her father had died, leaving them entirelyunprovided for,so that the move to England and the Barn House had been accomplished by the time she had left schoolfor good and followed her family from Ireland. He had gone to Euston to meet the boat-train, and hadescorted a thin, rather resentful little schoolgirl back to Sussex. The crossing had been rough, and Gina,always a bad sailor, looked white and plain. Her school clothes were unbecoming, and she had a lost,unhappy look in spite of her air of defiance.

"Awfully difficult, Mark dear," Julie had said of her before she arrived, but there had always beensomething about her which had appealed to him, even in her most unprepossessing moments.

"Why won't you be friends with me, Gina?" he asked her suddenly.

She looked alarmed. "Oh, I—Mark—I am friends," she said lamely.

He raised an eyebrow doubtfully and smiled. "Well—I don't know about that," he began, then broke offto say kindly, "You're a mass of nerves tonight, child. What's upset you?"

Her face altered at his tone; she smiled—that sudden sweet smile which she had in common with herbrother, but used so much more rarely.

"I'm all right," she said quickly. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I want you to help me with Sebastian," he replied at once. "Do you know it was your fault as much ashis own that he failed?"

"My fault?But he was at school!" she exclaimed.



"Yes, I know. But you were behind him. You didn't want him to get a scholarship any more than he didhimself. You don't want him to go to Oxford, do you?"

He was watching her intently now, as he had watched Sebastian.

"No," she said.

"No. Now I'm going to be quite frank with you, Gina. Sebastian at the moment is setting out to be just acharming waster. That's why I consider Oxford will be invaluable to him. He'll have to shift for himself abit, and he'll meet other people of his own age and sex. But if you hold him back all the time by panderingto every ridiculous idea he may get, he'll never do anything. Why don't you push him on instead of sidingwith him against Julie andmyself all the time?"

She came across the room to his chair, and stood over him, her little pointed face sharp with tension.

"Mark, why won't you let him do what he wants?" she cried desperately. "Surely it's the best way. Itcan't ever do good to force someone out of their right channel and leave them for ever unsatisfied."

"But, my dear," he said gently, "you can't apply all this anguish to a career of jazz!"

"Oh, don't sneer like Julie," she said, and ignoring his quick gesture of denial, dropped on her kneesbeside his chair, and rested her elbows on the arm, and her chin on her hands. "Mark, you haveimagination, which so few people seem to possess. Can't you understand a little?"

"I'll try," he said simply.

"Sebastian is good in his own line—really good," she went on. "He doesn't want to write things aboutsugar babies and blue birds, except perhaps as pot-boilers. He believes in the future of jazz. He'sworking on a jazz symphony now. And his things will sell eventually. His work is marketable. That oughtto appeal to you," she finished a little bitterly.

"I'm afraid you and Sebastian think that I only consider the money aspect," he said quietly. "But you atleast have intelligence enough to know that isn't so. You make out a good case for him, Gina, and Iappreciate your side of the thing. I don't profess to know anything about modern music or its future, butSebastian is very young and has plenty of time to consider the position. Even supposing I could afford tosend him to Paris and pay for his training and his keep, he's at the stage now when he doesn't know whathe wants. He would be just as likely after a year to discover that he had a flair for sculpture."

"You have no faith, Mark. I can see farther."

"My dear, it isn't only a question of faith," he said with a smile. "One has to look ahead in other ways. Ihad to work terribly hard, Gina, to get where I 'am now. When ray father died, Julie and I were each leftwith two hundred and fifty a year to live on. Julie got a job and we both slaved to make ends meet. NowI'm doing reasonably well, but I must look ahead for you and Sebastian, and, frankly, we can none of usafford to play about."

She sat back on her heels and regarded him bitterly. "Don't think that I, at any rate, don't see howbeholden we are to you, Mark," she said. "It's the Irish temperament to think that other people's money isas good as your own. Sebastian doesn't mean it. Why should you keep us like this? Why should you? It'sso humiliating."



Mark looked really startled for the moment. "Gina, for heaven's sake, child, don't begin to talk likethat," he said in distressed tones. "I've often thought you were rather sensitive about our financialarrangements, but I can't bear you to feel like this. When you all came to live here, I simply handed overmy share of our father's money to Julie, since I scarcely need it now, so you needn't think you are entirelydependent on me. With her own share, that gives her five hundred to play about with. That's not toobad."

"I'm not such a fool, Mark, that I don't know that there are a hundred and one things you do for us," sheretorted. "Well, supposing thereare . Does it matter so very much?"

"To me it does. Sebastian can repay you if he works. I can't ever. I'm no good to you as 'a businessproposition."

"Gina dear!"His voice was gentle. "It's foolish to take these things so hardly. I don't want you to repayme for what I'm very glad to do. But if you feel like that about it, how about coming in with me on thisscholarship question? You can help me a lot by working with me instead of against me, if you only will.After all, Sebastian can still work at his music when he's at Oxford. He'll find plenty of scope for newideas there, and if at the end of, say, a couple of years he was still dissatisfied, we might see what couldbe done.How about it?"

She had been frowning deeply all the time he was speaking, and she was silent for a moment, then shesmiled suddenly, and held out her hand to him."All right. You win, Judge. I'll see that he gets hisscholarship this time," she said, and they shook hands formally.

CHAPTER II

I

GINA and Sebastian hung over the paddock gate and contemplated the Southern Belle. Now that thehunting season was over and the mare safely turned out to grass, they could afford to be jocular.



"Honestly, Gina, why do we do it?"

"Idunno —Mark thinks we enjoy it. No son of Ireland could ever be happy without a horse."

Dogsbody, an Alsatian of impeccable pedigree, whose ears had never become erect, which Gina saidmade him look simple, stretched his lovely black and silver body and yawned.

"Dogsbodywas a Turkish Sultan in another life," said Gina proudly.

"You said yesterday he was a trapeze artist," Sebastian reminded her. "It's after ten. I suppose I'd betterbe going back. Teacher will be waiting. What are you going to do?"

"Going with Sweeny and the donkey to seeMicky Dooley."

"Look out Julie doesn't catch you, then. This isn't Ireland. Farewell, you blistering female!" Sebastiansaluted the Southern Belle, who regarded him with a dubious eye,then he walked back to the housearm-in-arm with Gina.

It was the second week in August, and they both bemoaned the fact that it was a week of real hotweather when Sebastian had to begin his work under Mark's supervision. Mark was home for twomonths now, rather tired after a strenuous term, and neither of the young Gales realized that he hadforgone a holiday abroad in order to keep a friendly eye on Sebastian. The boy was resigned to hisposition now, and although he kicked at the work involved, he had made up his mind to get started.

Gina met Sweeny down the road, in order not to be seen starting from the yard, and she perchedherself beside the old man on the plank which did justice for a seat, and they rattled away down thecountry road, the donkey's little hoofs twinkling in the sun,Dogsbody loping behind.

MickyDooley lived alone in a mean little cottage on the other side of the village. He was a knownpoacher and lived too near theClevelands estates for the peace of mind of the keepers, but he couldn't beevicted and he was too clever to get caught. Sweeny had known him inWicklow , twenty-five yearsbefore, when they had both been young men of the village, and he liked a yarn about old days once in awhile. Gina, who still could feel homesick for the land of her birth, loved to sit listening to the two old menoutdoing each other with tales of their youthful prowess.

Gina arrived home just before lunch to find theHunters were guests.

The Hunters were nearneighbours of Mark's and had an only son now finishing his last year atCambridge.

"We left Evan lime-washing the kennel," Mrs. Hunter said, as they finally folded up their table-napkins."He wondered if you would come back to tea with us and help him finish it. Barbara expects her puppiesany time now."

"I'd love to," said Gina with alacrity. "Can I bringDogsbody ?"

"Can't stand Alsatians.Treacherous brutes.Yellow streak.Half wolves," said the colonel in a series ofstaccato jerks rather like machine-gun fire.

"ButDogsbody's beautiful! I must go and get the dust off him," Gina said, and vanished into the garden.



The Hunters lived in 'a pleasant Georgian house a mile the other side ofWestham Street village, andGina, looking fresh 'and cool in a clean summer frock, rode joyfully there in thedicky of Colonel Hunter'stwo-seater,Dogsbody sitting regally beside her, his floppy ears standing up like broken stalks in a vainattempt to prick correctly.

She found Evan in the stable yard surrounded by pails of lime and brushes, and thought, as she alwaysdid, coming suddenly upon him at any time, how handsome he was. Standing full in the afternoon sun, hepresented a golden aspect, with his thick fair hair and eyebrows bleached to an even lighter shade, hislong gold lashes and smooth gold skin. His friendly, candid eyes were vividly blue in a face that wasalmost too gentle for a man's, and his mouth had the sweetness of a woman's.

"Hullo, Gina!" he called as soon as he saw her. "So glad you came. I've done the ceiling. Would youlike to take a wall?" He handed her a brush, and they set to work, splashing on the lime with enjoymentwhile they discussed the trifling news of the village. When they went back to the house for tea, there wasa small sports car drawn up before the front door and Gina groaned.

"The Sprat's come to tea," she said.

"I didn't know," said Evan. "She must have just dropped in. I rather wanted to see her anyway aboutthat new car she wants to get."

They went into the square high drawing-room, made cool and pleasant with a faded chintz. A girl wastalking vivaciously to Mrs. Hunter on the sofa.

Nancy Pratt, who was at pains to change her unlovely surname as soon as possible, was considered thebeauty of the district. Indeed, she was so pretty that she scarcely looked real. With her golden curls andpeach-like complexion, her overworked dimples and little white teeth flashing together, she might havestepped straight from the cover of one of America's more expensive magazines. Her father, whose originwas dim, had plenty ofmoney, and her clothes were the envy of every girl round West-ham Street.

"Hullo, Nancy," Evan said, smiling down into her charming face."Nice of you to look in. We might talkabout the car after tea. Gina and I have been lime-washing Barbara's kennel."

"Oh, have you? How awfully messy; but you love all those unfeminine things, don't you, Gina?" Nancylaughed.Dogsbody entered by the long window at that moment, and stretchedhimself beside Gina's chair,where he lay regarding her cake hopefully, little drops of moisture running off the end of his tongue. "Oh!You've got that dog with you. I always think you're so brave to have an Alsatian." Nancy gave a littleshiver and accepted her tea from Evan's hands with a smile of thanks.

"Oh, but Gina is brave. She's like a boy in lots of ways," said Evan.

Gina got up to help herself to a biscuit. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she remarked a littlewryly.

She listened to Evan and Nancy discussing cars, and realized that Nancy had no genuine desire to learnthe merits and demerits of different makes for her future guidance. She merely wanted the satisfaction ofa good-looking young man taking her interests so much to heart.

She sat on talking to Evan long after the tea-things had been cleared away, and Mrs. Hunter, with somevague remark about leaving the young people to chatter, hustled the colonel out through the Frenchwindow to look at the green-houses.



Nancy, havingendeavoured in vain to out-sit Gina, rose to her feet with a regretful air, and pulled out asmall powder-compact.

"I suppose I really ought to be going," she said, powdering her nose delicately. "I can give you a lifthome, Gina."

"I've gotDogsbody , so I shallwalk, thanks all the same," said Gina, sitting where she was.

"Oh!—well, good-bye for the present.I suppose I shall see you next at the church fete. Don't forget tobe in good time to help decorate the stall.Mumsie's singing during tea. You must buy heaps of things fromour stall, Evan. Don'tforget ."

"Rather not. I shall come and support you," he laughed, and Gina watched him escort Nancy to thedoor and listened crossly to their voices in the drive.

"She looks awfully well in thatAlvis ," Evan said when he came back to the drawing-room. "That paleblue and cream is frightfully effective."

II

Gina met her stepmother just as she was entering the Barn House at seven o'clock. Julie was goingupstairs to change for dinner, but when she saw Gina, she turned back again, saying, "Really, Gina! Justlook at you covered in paint! Please try torealise you can't behave now as you did when you weretwelve."

Gina looked at her stepmother's uncompromising mouth without speaking at once,then she said a littleforlornly, "Julie, I know we're terrible thorns in your flesh, but we can't help it. Why do you try to changeus all the time?"

Julie tucked a hairpin more firmly into her dark hair before she answered a little contemptuously, "Mydear Gina, you surely don't think that you and Sebastian areso unique as to never need correction? Irishcharm doesn't carry you that far, you know." Gina's pale cheeks flamed into sudden brightcolour . "Idon't know why you're always sneering at Ireland," she said in low tones, "but if you felt like that, whydid you marry Father? He was no less peculiar than we are. You came into my life when I was nearlyfifteen, and you think that gives you the right to interfere and sneer and alter my whole nature." Her voicebegan to rise excitedly. "But you can't change people like that, I tell you. You'll hurt yourself in the end."

"My dear—really!"Julie drawled."And all this because I ventured to complain that you were alittle—injudicious in yourbehaviour ."

There was a slight sound behind them and they turned to see Mark standing motionless in the doorway.They neither of them had any idea how long he had been there, and Julie said in as natural a voice as she



could manage, "You'd better go up and change, Gina; time's getting on."

The girl never gave another look in Mark's direction, but went quite quietly up the stairs and along thegallery to her own room.

Mark stood looking at his sister intently, his hands in his pockets. "Julie, my dear, that's not the way," hesaid gently.

She gave an exclamation of impatience, and hercolour heightened a little. "It's all very well for you,Mark. You don't have to contend with things as I do," she said quickly. "It's nothing but complaining,complaining from morning till night."

"I know. But why should it be?" he said. "Surely you can let some things pass?"

"But the girl must be taught."

"Yes, but the question is what is worth teaching and what isn't? She's right, you know, you can't 'alterpeople's natures, and I don't know that you have any right to try."

She regarded him with a curious expression for a moment or two before she said, "Oh, my dear Mark,I know that you'd always stick up for Gina, whatever she did. I suppose if it came to a case of her wordagainst mine, you'd believe her first."

"That's absurd," he said impatiently. "You mustn't confuse the issue like this. You're talking now as if thechild had done something serious instead of merely being young and a bit obstreperous."

"Well, you hear how she talks to me."

"Yes, my dear, and I hear how you talk to her," he answered quietly. "You shouldn't speak as you do,Julie. You're very sharp with that little girl. It's not fair to let your personal feelings get the better of yourgoodjudgement . She's quite right. You'll only end in hurting yourself."

She was silent,then she said more gently, "Oh, I suppose I'm no good at coping with my own sex. I canmanage Sebastian all right. Even at his most tiresome moments he manages to be charming."

Mark smiled in spite of himself,then he said seriously, "Obviously you and Gina rub each other thewrong way all the time, anyone can see that. But it's up to you to try, Julie. I think the child is much moresensitive and easily hurt than you imagine. She's very repressed."

"Repressed!My dear Mark, that's just what she's not!" Julie cried. "She's had too much freedom, that'sher trouble."

"No, my dear, you mistook my meaning. Never mind," her brother returned, and went into his study andshut the door.

III



Sebastian lay in the high grass of the Long Meadow 'and tried to concentrate on Cicero's Letters.

He was heartily bored with his work, regretted bitterly his decision to sit again for his scholarship, andthought seriously of cutting loose 'altogether and setting out to make his way in the world as a jazzmusician. He came to the conclusion that Mark was no better than Julie when it came to trying to explainoneself, and Gina, who had of old been a sure support on all occasions, had suddenly sided against him.Presently he heard the swishing noise that grass makes as some object moves through it, and saw thewaving tips ofDogsbody's black ears coming toward him. In a minute he emerged completely and flunghimself down panting, beside Sebastian, followed closely by Gina.

Sebastian joyfully threw away Cicero, and prepared to be lazy. "You look blue," he remarked. "What'sup?"

His sister sat bunched together, her thin bare arms clasped tightly about her knees. She wore a fadedgreen linen frock and no stockings,

"Oh, I don't know. Life in general is becoming too much for me," she said gloomily.

"Mark beenupsetting you again?"

"Oh, Mark's really very decent. Julie's the one who dislikes me so."

"Oh, Julie—I shouldn't let her worry me."

Gina smiled. "You don't anyhow. Consequently she doesn't try so hard."

"Yes, she's pretty hard on you at times." Sebastian admitted. "But what do you care?"

"I shouldn't, of course," she agreed promptly, "I don't in the sense that I want her to like me. I can seeshe could never do that. I don't blame her. But I can't stand being eternally nagged 'at.If they'd only leaveme alone."

"They?"

"Oh, Mark's decent enough," she said again. "I suppose I naturally lump him in with Julie. At least youcan appeal to Mark as a person. You can't to Julie."

"I find just the opposite. Julie will often listen to me where Mark won't."

Gina laughed a little shortly. "We each find the strain less with opposite members of our sexes," shesaid. "All it amounts to is this. They both get heartily fed up with us, only Julie hides it best when she'sdealing with you, and Mark when and if he's dealing with me, only it's generally Julie, unfortunately forme."

"Oh, old Mark is fond of you, Ginny, there's no getting away from that," said her brother shrewdly. "Itisn't only duty with him. I never know whether you really dislike him as you seem to."



She was silent a moment, pulling a strand of grass and chewing it. "Sometimes I dislike him," she saidslowly. "Principally as a benefactor, I think. I hate being under an obligation."

"Meekness of spirit and a chastened yoke is what you need, darling," Sebastian gibed.

She fell upon him, rolling him in the cool grass and tickling him mercilessly.

"Let's chuck everything and go off for the day," she said quickly. "Just bunk, and let them stew."

"Where to?"

"Anywhere.Let's take a bus intoEastcliff and bathe and eat winkles and put pennies in the slot-machineson the pier."

"How about teacher?"

"Oh, let him rot. He won't wait for you more than half an hour. If we sneak in through the kitchen, wecan leaveDogsbody there and borrow some money off Sweeny."

"Right!Come on!" cried Sebastian, springing joyously to his feet. "I was feeling exactly like this beforeyou turned up."

It was nearly ten o'clock when they got back in the evening, and Sebastianswaggered a little as theywent into the drawing-room. Julie looked up quickly as they came in, and her eyes hardened, but shesaid nothing.

"Hullo!" said Sebastian generally. "Hope you didn't worry about us. We've been toEastcliff and had agrand time." He had drunk three cocktails on the way home and was feeling talkative. "You should haveseen Ginny in her hired bathing-suit! It sagged in front and behind and was hardly decent. She's not builtfor comfort, you know. You would have been amused, Julie. We behaved just like trippers."

Still Julie said nothing, which was so unusual that Gina concluded Mark must have enjoined silence. Sheglanced across at his thin, dark face. He had risen when she entered the room, a courtesy which she feltto be out of place in this ridiculous atmosphere of childish bravado they had brought in with them.

"When you disappear for the entire day another time, you might leave a message with the servants. It'smore considerate," he said quite quietly, and sat down 'again with a book.

They shuffled from one foot to the other waiting for Julie to speak, but as she still said nothing but wenton with some embroidery she was doing, they left the room.

"What fools we are," said Gina.

"Oh, well, what do we care?" Sebastian retorted, and went out into the garden.

But Gina hung about until bed-time, and when Julie had passed her at the foot of the stairs with a curt"Goodnight," she turned and watched Mark while he attended to the locking up, waiting until he hadfinished.

"I'm sorry, Mark," she said softly. "We are stupid little beasts."



"It's of no consequence at all," he said politely, and stood aside to allow her to precede him up thestairs.

CHAPTER III

I

GINA stood behind her stall, and listened to Lady Napier declaring open the church fete. TheNapiershad graciously lentClevelands for the occasion, and the vast lawns were sprinkled with marquees andlittle tents and gaily decked booths. Yesterday the weather had unfortunately broken again, and, at themoment, everyone was dubiously grateful for a chill and watery sun which shone upon them, and wasprepared to dash for shelter at any moment.

The opening ceremony over, the usual twitteringbabel arose, and business began.

Gina, shivering in her thin things, glanced at Nancy Pratt and hated her own clothes. Nancy was dressedas if for Ascot and a huge cartwheel hat framed her charming face. Golden curls, flashing dimples,exquisite skin were at their very best for anyone to see, and the stall soon had a small crowd round it.

There was no doubt about it that Nancy knew her job. She was charming to everyone, but saw thateveryone spent money. "We shan't have anything left at this rate," she said happily. "I adore bazaars,don't you, Gina?"

Gina, hating every minute of it, said so ungraciously, and Nancy smiled in an irritating way and saidnothing.

Lady Napier was buying at Julie's stall next door, and Gina heard her say, "I'm afraid I've never called,Mrs. Gale. It's difficult to fit in all one wants to do these days, is it not? I must try and get over to theBarn House soon."

Julie was gracious and conciliatory, and theNapiers moved on to Gina's stall. "You seem to be doing



good trade here, Miss Pratt," Lady Napier said, and Nancy smiled and sparkled.

"People are very generous," she replied charmingly."This tea-cosy? I thinkit's marked ten shillings, LadyNapier. Oh, thank you, so very much." She saw SirCh'arles staring rather hard at Gina, and said onimpulse, "This is Gina Gale who's helping me."

Lady Napier turned to smile 'at Gina, then passed on, saying a little stiffly, "I think I've seen you aboutthe place."

But Sir Charles distinctly twitched an eyelid, and put a pound note into Gina's collecting-box.

"Do you know them, then?" asked Nancy curiously. "She seemed rathersniffy . My dear, she spent fivepounds here. I believe we shall make more than any of the other stalls."

Sebastian turned up about four o'clock and found his sister in charge alone. She was still smarting fromEvan Hunter's unintentional rebuff, when he had carried off Nancy to tea with scarcely a glance in herdirection, saying: "You must come and take nourishment before you die of overwork, Nancy. Gina willlook after the stall for you. Come on."

Nancy, fluttering and a little embarrassed, said, "Oh, would Gina mind? I do want to hearMumsie's firstsongs." And they had dashed away to the house, Evan laughing at something amusing which Nancy hadsaid.

"The Sprat left you the donkey work 'as usual," Sebastian remarked, knowing his sister's frown only toowell. "Oh, she's done her share," said Gina crossly.

Julie returned from tea, accompanied by Mark, and came over for a moment to ask how Gina wasdoing.

"Splendid!" she exclaimed when Gina told her. "They will be pleased. Nancy is a wonderful littleworker. She's looking so very pretty, don't you think, Mark?"

"Rather overdressed, I thought," Mark said, and Gina could have hugged him.

"I'm coming back later on to take you off for an ice, Gina," he said as he moved away with Julie.

"Come on, there's the Sprat. Now we'll have tea," said Sebastian, and seizing his sister by the hand, hemarched her away without even waiting for Nancy to take over.

When they got back to the stall, they found Nancy trying to fleece her father in the interests of thechurch, and he ostentatiously put a ten-pound note into the box. He was a big, snub-nosed man with astomach and a cigar, known to his fellow members of the golf-club as Port Wine Pratt owing to hisdistressing habit of boasting about his cellar. At the same time Mrs. Pratt joined her family and broke intorapid speech. She was large and self-important like her husband, and wore a perpetual smile. She wassmiling now, even though she was angry.

"I will never," she said emphatically, "I will never sing again at an affair of this kind. People rattle theirteacups and turn their backs on one. It's outrageous!"

"You can scarcely blame the Sprat when you see them, can you?" whispered Gina.



Sebastian departed, saying he couldn't stand it any longer, and Gina began selling again.

Business was slack now. All the best things had gone, and Nancy had lost interest in her stall and wasflirting prettily with Evan.

Quite suddenly a storm of rain descended upon them, and people hurried for shelter and stall-holdersfrenziedly covered their stalls with tarpaulins.

"My clothes will be ruined," wailed Nancy, struggling with her end of a ground-sheet. "I can't untie this.Oh, thanks, Evan. I must go in.Gina, could you collect the money and bring it 'after me?"

"What do you think my clothes are made of?Oilskin?" Gina inquired sweetly.

With Mark's help she covered up everything that mattered, and tucking the collection-boxes one undereach arm, she ran for the nearest marquee.

"You've earned your ice," he said as he followed her in. "Let's find a table."

"We must have made an awful lot of money," she said, as she sat opposite him eating a strawberry ice,and he watched her eating with the frank enjoyment of a schoolgirl, and thought how different she lookedwhen she was happy.

"I like you, Gina," he said impulsively. "There's no pretence about you."

She glanced up at him swiftly, her tilted eyes green and vivid, andcoloured a little. "I hope that's not thesame thing as being like a boy in lots of ways," she said with a funny little twist to her lips.

"Who told you a thing like that?" he asked quickly.

"Oh, it has been said," she replied with her sudden wide smile.

He regarded her quizzically for a moment or two,then said seriously, "You're not like a boy in any waythat detracts from your being 'a girl."

She considered this, decided that she was suddenly a little out of her depth with him, and relapsed intosilence, her principaldefence in moments of doubt.

Not very long after this, they heard the band playing "God Save the King" from aneighbouring marquee,and the fete came to an end.

II

Gina sat in front of her mirror, brushing her hair. She wore a green and yellow silk dressing-gown, with



a large rent down the back, and Sebastian, coming in for a moment to borrow some tooth-paste, stoodstaring at her in amazement. She was brushing her hair with earnest deliberation, which sight was sounusual in itself that he stood watching her for some moments without speaking.

"Hallo! What's the time?" she asked without turning round.

"About eleven—later, I think. Can I pinch your toothpaste?" He went over to the wash-stand, pausingon his way to pick up the frock which she had worn at the fete that afternoon and which still lay in a heapon the carpet. "What's the idea, darling?"

"Sebastian, do you think, if I did my hair differently, it would improve me?" she said intently, peering intothe mirror and closely regarding her small face. In the glare of the electric light, her thick hair, springingstrongly from her high forehead, gleamed magnificently after its intensive brushing. She pressed it close toher head with her hands, trying it this way and that. "Do you think it would look better if I had it cutshorter?" she continued. "It's so wild and bushy."

Sebastian came and stood behind her with his head on one side. "Idunno . Perhaps it would," he saidcritically, "I never thought about it really."

"If I got them to cut it quite close to my head, it would curl into my neck and round my ears, and stayshiny on top instead of getting like tow," she decided. "Don't you think then,Sebastian, that would make alot of difference to my face?"

"Well, Idunno ," he said again. "Yes, I suppose it would. You wouldn't look so witch-like."

"Do I look witch-like?"

"When you frown you do."

"Oh, forget it, I can't be bothered! What's it matter anyway?" she exclaimed, and suddenly ran herfingers upwards through her hair, making it stand wildly on end.

"It doesn't!" Sebastian agreed, and sat down on Gina's bed. "The Swann is coming for the week-end."

"Oh, lord!" said Gina, wheeling round on her stool to face him. "Is that why Julie's been going aboutlooking a Saint of God all the evening? Would she really marry the man, do you think?"

"Would he marry Julie?" countered Sebastian.

"Yes, I think so. He's the sort of man who would like a good-looking wife of sensible age and bettersocial position than himself to mind his millions while he has a good time," Gina said shrewdly. "And ouryoung step-mamma is just the sort of fool to do it too."

"Still, the man has money," said Sebastian with unconscious respect.

"And he needs it," retorted Gina.

"ThosePratts are pretty grim," Sebastian said, chuckling. "Give themselves such airs too."

"Julie says they're climbers hoping to get into heaven by way of the new church hall."



"Oh well, T don't suppose it will ever be built," said Sebastian cheerfully. "These things never are.Nancy seems well away with Evan Hunter."

"Yes." Gina paused, then continued with a frown, "She always makes me feel perfectly sexless,Sebastian."

"Sexless? What on earth do you mean?"

"What I say. She's so terribly feminine she seems to take it all out of me. I feel perfectly hopeless besideher."

"I know. Do you want to feel feminine with Evan then?"

"Well, one likes to be desired by handsome young men," said Gina frankly.

Her brother looked at her thoughtfully for a moment,then said with unexpected shrewdness, "You'llnever attract very young men, Ginny. They like something far more obvious. You must aim your deadlyshafts at men over thirty."

III

The week-end was unfortunately wet, so that they all, with the possible exception of Julie, had far toomuch of Victor Swann.

He was a virile, very dark man of thirty-eight or so, with the flamboyant, slightly overripe good looks ofhis type. He was the sort of man who is at his best playing "sardines," a game at which he excelled. Ginahad a most intense dislike of him, mixed with contempt for Julie who could not see through him. What shedidn't appreciate was the fact that Julie saw through him perfectly and didn't care.

Mark endured him for Julie's sake. In term-time he always avoided the week-ends which brought thedashing Victor, and remained in town.

By the time tea was over on Sunday, Mark was feeling so much on edge that he shut himself up in hisstudy, and tried to concentrate on writing some over-due letters. Victor and Julie were dancing in the hall,and the gramophone blared ceaselessly for nearly an hour. At last, when silence reigned and they wentinto the drawing-room to indulge in mild flirtation, the peace was rent by Sebastian working very loudlyon his latest composition. Mark bore it as long as he could, then he pushed back his chair with anexclamation and went into the hall.

"Can't we ever have any peace in this house?" he demanded irritably. "It's impossible to concentrate onanything with such an infernal din going on. Can't you amuse yourself somewhere else?"

Sebastian looked surprised. Mark was not as a rule impatient. "What is there in the world to do?" he



complained, "it's poured all day, and we can't go in the drawing-room for fear of disturbing the lovers."

He saw from Mark's expression that he had gone a little too far, and turned back to the piano andbegan strumming with one finger.

"Why on earth can't you go away and do some work instead of loafing about all day?"Mark said."You're lazy enough as it is, and you did practically nothing last week."

"It's the Sabbath, Mark," said Gina piously from the stairs, where she had been sitting all the time.

"Oh, I can't work today, Mark," Sebastian said.

"Well, you'll only have a double dosetomorow ," Mark replied indifferently. "You'll have to work withme in the afternoon 'as well as the morning. We've got to get through it."

"Sebastian can't possibly work tomorrow," cried Gina high-handedly. "We've arranged a picnic with theNeills and a whole crowd of their friends. It was fixed weeks ago."

Mark turned to regard her a little curiously,then he said:

"I quite thought you understood how important it was for Sebastian to get his scholarship this time."

"Oh, he'll get it, easy as spitting in aduckpond ," she declared.

"That's a very foolish thing to say," Mark said quietly. "He didn't find it so easy last time."

"That's because he didn't trouble to work."

"It doesn't seem to me that he's troubling very much now."

Gina experienced one of her sudden little spasms of rage against him, and a wave of unreasonabledislike swept over her momentarily.

"Good lord, Mark! You're not our blooming keeper!" she cried like a boy,then became scarlet as sherealized that she had repudiated that which was actually the truth. Didn't Mark virtually keep them both,when it came to hard facts?

She had jumped up on her last words, and now stood irresolute, staring at him and biting her lips.

He looked at her with an odd expression for a moment, and saw her green eyes suddenly fill with tears.

"Think it over, Gina," he said gently, and went back to his room and shut the door.

IV



Victor Swann departed the next day after breakfast and went back to his vague business in London.No one had yet discovered what he did, or even if he did anything. He had managed to make a greatdeal of money just after the war, and on that he subsisted very comfortably as a bachelor.

It was a lovely day after the wet week-end, and Sebastian spoke cheerfully of the assured success oftheir picnic.

"But you aren't going, Sebastian," Gina protested, pausing in her grooming ofDogsbody in the stableyard.

"Why ever not?We fixed it weeks ago."

"Yes, but after what Mark said yesterday—"

"Oh, Mark! He didn't mean it."

Gina pushed her untidy hair off her forehead with the back of the dandy brush. "Sebastian, of course hemeant it. He'll stick in today waiting for you just as he did that day we went toEastcliff . He'll expect youto work."

"Oh, well—" Sebastian kicked at a loose brick. "He shouldn't, that's all. Blessed is he, etcetera. Youknow."

"You've got to work today, Sebastian," said Gina, resuming her brushing. "What's a picnic,anyway?—Roll over, boy."

"It isn't that, it's the principle of the thing. We can't be for ever yoked to authority. Besides, you'll beenjoying yourself. Why should I sweat away indoors?"

"I'm not going," said Gina.

"Oh, well, perhaps—I think you're an 'awful fool, Ginny.

See you later, then—" Sebastian left the yard and went back to the house.

Gina went to lunch with the Hunters, and afterwards Evan walked home with her. Their path laypleasantly through woods and fields, and they idled along, enjoying the rich earthy smells given up by thesoaked land. They climbed a stile into a corn field and walked, arm in arm, between the tall golden-greenblades.

"Let's sit down," said Evan.

"It'll be rather wet."

"You can have my coat." He took it off and spread it on the ground for her, and shes'at down with alittle laugh.

"How do you manage to look so cool on a day like this?" he asked her.



"Cool? With hair like mine!" she laughed.

" 'Redhair, trouble near,'" he teased her. "But you have a queer remote little face, Gina, and generally sopale."

He was not old enough yet to read what was already written plainly in her mouth, in her sensitivenostrils, in the quickcolour which even now was rising to her cheeks. For perhaps the first time, henoticed how easily she blushed. This intrigued him. He began saying all the most personal things he couldthink of, for the pleasure of watching her changecolour . But once it was plain to her that he was onlyshamming, she became immune, and he finally gave it up.

"Nancy's a lovely creature for those parents of hers to have produced," he said suddenly.

"She's terribly pretty," Gina agreed with an effort.

He looked at her half lying against the cool background of wheat. Her face was turned from him, andthere was a momentary unexpected beauty in the long line from chin to breast, the young sharp curve ofher shoulders as she supported her weight on her outspread hands. He leant over her impulsively andsaid:

"You're rather attractive yourself, Gina—I'd never thought about it before." She turned a startled facetowards him, and he said simply, "I'm glad we're friends," and kissed her gently on the lips.

She sat quite still for a moment,then jumped up quickly.

"I ought to be back by now in case Sebastian finishes early," she said unhurriedly. "Don't come anyfarther with me, Evan. I want to run."

"All right, if you'd rather I didn't." He scrambled to his feet and stood looking at her with a puzzledexpression. "You didn't mind my kissing you, Gina?" he stammered awkwardly.

"Of course not.It doesn't mean anything," she said lightly.

"No, of course not," he said in relieved tones. "Well, so long. I'll be over for tennis on Thursday."

She watched him walk away through thecorn, his coat slung over his shoulder, his hair and skingleaming in the sun, and began slowly to walk in the opposite direction. She was filled with aninexplicable desire to sit down in the grass and cry. She knew that had she been Nancy Pratt, he wouldnot have kissed her like that, and she was bitterly disappointed in an experience which had held nodelight for either of them.

Julie was cutting roses in front of the house when Gina got back, and she paused to ask sharply,"Where's Sebastian?"

Gina stopped and looked 'at her stepmother in surprise. "Isn't he here?" she said.

"You know very well he isn't," Julie replied. "He went off in the middle of the morning and hasn't beenseen since-. Gone on his precious picnic, I suppose. What's the point in you coming back without him?"

"Oh, Julie, I'm sorry. I quite thought he meant to stop in and work today," Gina said, distressed. "Ididn't go to theNeills at all. I've been at the Hunters all this time. I haven't seen Sebastian."



"Well, Mark's been hanging about all day for him," said Julie, determined to get her irritation off hermind. "Really, Gina, it's a bit too much! Mark's given up a holiday abroad to remain here and coachSebastian, and this is all the thanks he gets. You neither of you have any knowledge of the meaning of theword gratitude." Her handsome eyes brightened angrily, and she snipped off a dead bloom with a viciousgesture.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, Julie," Gina said again, "but it really isn't my fault. I gave up the picnic myself,so as not to go without Sebastian."

"Well, you needn't make a martyr of yourself over it. Sebastian isn't the only offender by any means,"snapped Julie, and Gina, with a slight shrug of her thin shoulders, turned away and went into the house.She felt tired and dispirited, and she was furious with Sebastian for having let her down after all.

She met Mark on the stairs and began to explain all over again.

"I didn't know—we neither of us knew you had given up going abroad in order to coach Sebastian,"she finished up. "That makes me feel perfectly frightful about everything. I wish I was Sebastian. I'd workso that there'd never be an obligation on one side only."

He stood looking down at her a little gravely. "I think you have the Irish difficulty in acceptingfavoursgracefully," he said. "Why do you always think of anything I do for you in such a concrete form?" Shewas silent. "Is it the fact that I help you materially which makes you dislike me?"

"I don't dislike you," said Gina in low tones.

He smiled. "I'm afraid you do," he said, then gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder."Never mind.Perhaps you won't always feel like this. Let me talk to the boy when he comes in, will you?"

CHAPTER IV

AT the beginning of September, Mark went up to Scotland for three weeks shooting before term beganagain, and Julie announced unexpectedly that she was taking Gina up to town for a night to buy clothes.

"You're really a disgrace," she said to Gina quite graciously. "I want to have you properly fitted out, andI shall take you to a decent hairdresser too."



If Gina suspected Mark's hand in this, she said nothing except, "Where's all the cash coming from,Julie?"

"It's my job to clothe you," Julie said, thinking again of her brother's words before he went north.

"I'm making over another hundred a year to you for Gina's specific use," he had said. "See that she hasthe sort of things girls of her age want, give her some pocket-money, and for heaven's sake don't let herfind out it's my money. Let her think you've been keeping her tight for an allowance and have changedyour mind, or something."

This was near enough to the truth to make Julie blush slightly, and she agreed, thinking that the girlwould probably be a good deal more bearable if she was presentable than if she was not.

Even sworn enemies can become temporary friends over the subject of clothes, if they are women, andJulie and her stepdaughter were almost united during their brief to London. Gina took a keen interest inshopping, and was perfectly willing to accept advice from Julie on all matters of her personal appearance.Thus she made no objection when Julie decreed she must wear thin shoes with high heels, and smallflowery hats; nor when Julie's hairdresser cut off most of her hair to suit the hat. The supercilious millinerhad declared that the hat becamemodom's piquant style, while the hairdresser admired thecolour of herhair.

Julie, doing the thing properly, bought creams and powder and lipstick, more pairs of stockings thanGina had ever owned in her life, and a new handbag which smelt like a prayer-book.

"But can we afford all this?" Gina asked several times.

"Of course, my dear.I told you I haven't been spending nearly enough on your clothes up to date, andthe money's just lain there," Julie saidVaguely , wondering with a flash of interest what Mark would thinkof the results of his expenditure. Probably he wouldn't even notice. Men were so hopeless about clothes.She thought of Gina's father, who had lived in old tweeds himself and had never noticed, year in or yearout, what she had worn. Victor, now, knew a great deal about women's dress. She glanced at Ginatrying on her new things in front of the long mirror in their hotel bedroom, and wondered a little dubiouslyif Victor would notice Gina.

Sebastian at any rate had something to say. "I approve," he affirmed upon their return. "You have stylenow, Ginny. You don't look so much like the English idea of an Irish colleen now. Julie has taste."

"Och!Miss Gina, ye look the elegant lady entirely!" was Sweeny's contribution.

Julie was pleased. Gina seemed much quieter of late, and Sebastian had worked well during Mark'sabsence.

Sebastian, however, was then in no hurry to think of work. He had managed to sell Paupers' Parade forten pounds outright, and his old interest in his music was revived with a burningfervour .

"How did you do it?" demanded Gina excitedly, disturbing the precision of her newly-arranged hair bythrusting her fingers through it agitatedly.

"Well, you remember Fred Doyle whom we met over there at Easter?" Sebastian said. "He told me thento send him anything I did and he'd try and get it placed. He's over here now, playing in some Londonband, and I sent him Paupers’ Parade about a fortnight ago, only I didn't say anything to you in case



nothing came of it. Doyle's boss has bought it for the band and it's going to be broadcast!"

"Oh, Sebastian!But to sell it outright for ten pounds!" cried Gina. "I do think that was silly. You ought tobe getting royalties and things. It might be a huge success."

"Yes, I thought of that afterwards," Sebastian admitted. "But what do I care? If they want anything elsethey'll have to pay for it. What's that, anyway, to the fun of getting it placed?"

"I always thought Fred Doyle had a jolly good business instinct," Gina said significantly.

"You're not going to neglect your exam, I hope, Sebastian," said Julie anxiously. "After all Mark'sdone—"

"Oh, it's all right, Julie. You needn't tell me all Mark's done—I've had it all from Gina," he saidreluctantly. "But you must admit that a thing of this kind does inspire one with a sense of one's ownability."

"What I like about you, Sebastian, is your charming modesty," Julie observed a little tartly, but shesmiled all the same as she said it.

Mark wrote that he was coming south by night, on the 29th, and would come down to Sussex for a fewdays before starting work again. The day before he was to arrive, Gina received a telegram which said:"Come to town 30th meet me lunchQuaglino's 1.15. Return together evening.Proctor."

"He must be loopy!" was Gina's comment, as in genuine bewilderment she handed the message to Julie.Julie compressed her lips and crumpled the telegram up rather suddenly. What on earth had possessedMark?

"You'd better go up by the 11.5," she said shortly. "And for heaven's sake, Gina, don't go wandering offsomewhere in London and lose yourself before you ever find Mark."

"But why should he pick on me?" said Gina, still puzzled, and Julie was irritated.

"I expect he simply wants to take you to a matinee," she said. "It's quite a usual thing to do. You needn'tmake a song about it."

Ginacoloured a little at her tone, and Sebastian said with frank disappointment, "Why on earth didn't heinclude me? Then we might have had a day!"

Gina arrived in London feeling rather lost. She didn't know her way about very well, and was at a lossto know what to do withherself for the three-quarters of an hour left to her before going to meet Mark. Akindly policeman pointed out the National Gallery, and since it was free and she hadn't much money, shewent in and looked about.

"Of all the places!" she confided afterwards to Sebastian. "I don't wonder it's free. I shouldn't thinkthey'd have the nerve to charge for what you see there!"

Later, however, she discovered that the pictures which boasted both glass and dark backgroundsproved to be admirable mirrors, and she amused herself for some time by viewing herself at different andunexpected angles, and wondering what impression she would make upon Mark.



She took a taxi toQuaglino's , having very little idea where it was, and entered a little timidly. She wasmuch too early, and sat down rather nervously to wait, trying not to appear so terribly conscious of thewaiters and the people drinking cocktails as she felt.

When Mark came in, she had to hail him, since he had only given her a cursory glance and hadobviously not recognized her.

"Good lord, you're here!" he exclaimed, and shook hands with her. "Come and have a cocktail, thenwe'll go in." He gave his order,then sat down beside her, and she suddenly felt a little shy of him. Whilethey sipped their drinks, she was conscious of his eyes continually upon her, and when, in thedining-room, they were seated opposite each other at a corner table, she said: "I've let Julie take me inhand. Do you think I'm an improvement now?"

He smiled at her way of putting it. "I've told you before that you were attractive," he said. "Now you'vesimply emphasized the fact instead of hiding it up. Incidentally you're one of the few people I like in thoseludicrous hats."

"Oh, Mark, you are nice," she said impulsively. "I will say the hat gives me an illusion of charm,anyway."

He leaned forward and studied her face,then he laughed."Oh, Gina! Lipstick too!" he said, and thatseemed to amuse him more than anything.

He took her to a matinee after lunch, and when they emerged from the theatre at five o'clock, he saidsuddenly, "I think I must add something to all this magnificence. Come 'along."

They went to ajeweller's in Jermyn Street, and he bought her a necklace of small, perfectly matched,polished jade beads, which she insisted upon wearing straight away.

"Oh, thank you, Mark. How perfectly heavenly of you," she said gratefully when they got outside. "I'vealways longed to possess jade, and never thought I should. It was terribly extravagant of you."

"Never mind, Green-Eyes, your green beads are very suitable," he laughed, as he hailed a taxi.

They 'arrived home in time fordinner, and both Julie and Sebastian noticed the necklace, but whileSebastian commented on it freely, Julie said nothing. She watched her brother carefully all through dinner,and snubbed Gina when she became excited.

Mark saw Gina now without 'a hat, and looked on several occasions at her small head, whose excellentshape was now revealed for the first time.

"Do you like Ginny's new style of coiffure?" asked Sebastian interestedly. "She hasn't been left verymuch, has she?"

"They were 'a bit ruthless!" Mark agreed."Very becoming, all the same."

Sebastian grinned, but Julie frowned. "If you've quite finished, Gina, shall we leave them?" she said inher precise tones.

The evenings were very cold now, and they sat round a fire in the drawing room listening to Mark'saccount of Scotland. Later Sebastian went into the hall to turn on the wireless, and presently he came



rushing in, crying: "Ginny, they're playing my tune! Now! Come quick, and listen."

She jumped up and ran into the hall. It was thrilling to hear Sebastian's work coming over the ether,played by a first-class dance-band. She listened with rapt attention, her feet in their new high-heeledslippers moving to the rhythm. A young man with a wailing nasal voice and a pronounced brogue whinedout the chorus, and at the end a voice announced pleasantly:

"You are listening to Bud Brown and his boys playing from the Grand Hotel, Mayfair. We have justplayed you a number, Paupers' Parade. Now Fred Doyle is going to sing to you a little comedy numberentitled—"

"Oh, Sebastian!"Gina cried as her brother switched off the instrument. "It's good. I knew it was. Youmight have made a lot of money over it. You were a fool!"

"It is a good tune," said Mark from the doorway, where he had been standing and listening. "Didsomebody do you, Sebastian?"

Gina explained indignantly, and Mark laughed. "I'm afraid Gina's right," he admitted. "I fear you've notmuch business sense."

"Oh, well, what do I care?" returned Sebastian as usual, and he sat down at the piano and plunged intohis latest composition.

CHAPTER V

OCTOBER was a lovely month. A real St. Luke's summer lay over the country,a last tardy reparationfor the cold wet months of July and August. Thecubbing season was well advanced, and Gina enjoyedthe early misty mornings before breakfast, having a few long canters on the Southern Belle still a littleblown out from grass, and doing very little in the way of actual hunting, as is the way with Sussex packs.Sebastian, preferring his bed any day to getting up early and bestriding a horse, gladly gave his share ofthe mare to his sister, and slept until the gong rang. He was working very spasmodically in these days,always more 'anxious to sit at the piano than at his desk. The house echoed with syncopation, and, oneSunday, Fred Doyle was invited down to Sussex to spend the day at the Barn House.

Doyle was a freckled, sandy-haired individual of twenty-two or so, with the disturbing eyes of his race.But his brogue was rich, his manners vile, and his nails wanted cleaning. He treated Sebastian with aneasy air of condescension, and spent most of the day at the piano, playing his own compositions, which



he obviously greatly admired.

Julie was frankly disgusted, but Mark derived much amusement from watching Gina's flank attacks indefence of her brother. Each time the conversation swung round to Doyle's achievements, she dragged itback again to Sebastian. When he played something of his own and paused for commendation, she said:"Nowplay Paupers' Parade." She remarked pointedly on several occasions that Sebastian should neverhave sold the thing outright, and that he should be getting royalties on each broadcast performance.

"Not at all," Doyle said. "We just bought it for the band. Theboys'll play it till they're tired of it, thenthey'll drop it. You must write us something else, Gale."

"It ought to be published properly and put on sale," said Gina, bristling with indignation.

"Oh, it wouldn't be worth your while. It's nothing at all, really, and wouldn't make any money," hereplied airily, saying almost in the same breath, "What do you want to be working atbuks for, Gale, whenyou might be makinghundthreds writing dance stuff? It isn't right at all, and I think you're a fool."

"It is very necessary for my brother to get through his exams, Mr. Doyle," Gina said fiercely. "So it's nouse talking to him 'about the hundreds he'll make till he's done it."

"Examinations!And what should he want with them?" Doyle exclaimed, opening his thickly lashed eyeswidely. "Divila penny will they put in hispocket, and him with a taste for the jazz. You've changed, MissGina, since we met in theouldcounthry ."

"I can't stand that young man," Gina said to Mark, having left Doyle and her brother to their owndevices. "He's all over the house at once, and hasn't the manners of a louse."

"He's not exactly prepossessing, I agree," laughed Mark. "Come for a walk, Gina. That'll give usbreathing-space till tea-time."

They walked briskly along the country roads in the warm October sun,Dogsbody following happily attheir heels. Mark smoked a pipe as he limped along contentedly, and Gina strode out beside him, herhands thrust into the pockets of a new tweed jacket, and felt more at peace.

"I'm so afraid he'll unsettle Sebastian again," she said, referring to Doyle. "Sebastian's been a bit restlessever since he sold Paupers' Parade, and he'll be ten times worse after today, with Doyle telling him oneminute his stuff's worth nothing, and the next that he'll make a fortune. He dithers enough as it is."

Mark glanced down at her in amusement. "You've changed your views since we first discussedSebastian's future," he remarked.

She nodded. "Well, I do see your side of the thing, and I'm not sure you aren't perhaps right aboutSebastian not knowing his own mind yet," she said, adding quickly and a little fiercely, "Not that I don'tthink he wouldn't be better working at the thing he really likes, and I do believe he has a future if he sticksto it. But sometimes I'm awfully afraid Sebastian will throw chances away just when they're under hishand."

"Well, he'll have time to think things well over at Oxford," Mark said. "And he can still go on composingand selling his stuff if it's marketable."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I only hope he'll be able to stick it out till December. Sebastian's so



unaccountable. He might throw everything up at the last minute." Gina sighed.

"Nonsense!Having got as far as this, there'd be no point in not going through with it," said Mark."Besides I rely on you to keep him going, Gina."

"Well, I do my best," she said, calling toDogsbody . "But you can't make an asslep that won't. Oh, lord!How we suffer!Doyle this week-end, the Swann the next."

She scarcely ever mentioned Victor's visits to the house, since he was Julie's guest, and Mark saidquickly, "You don't like him?"

"Well, do you?"

"I confess he's not much in my line."

"Nor mine. Anyhow, you can stay away. I can't. Are you coming down next week-end?"

"Well, I'm afraid" began Mark with a smile, and he cut him short with "Of course you're not."

She kicked a stone violently out of her path and walked along in silence for a little, then she said, as ifshe could keep it in no longer, "Mark,is Julie going to marry the Swann?"

He didn't reply at once, wondering what she was really thinking,then he said carelessly, "I really don'tknow, Gina. You'd better ask her."

"Was that impertinent?" she said, flushing a little.

"No, of course not," Mark said quickly. "I didn't mean to snub you. But really I'm as much in the darkabout Julie's affairs as you are. Why should you think she should necessarily mean to marry the man,though?"

"Well, he's the only man friend of hers who comes to the house as a regular thing, or whom she seemsto take the slightest interest in," Gina said shrewdly enough. "And she does seem to be fond of him in aqueer sort of way."

"Oh, well, that doesn't always mean anything."

"Would you hate Julie to marry Victor?"

"Well, I can't say I frightfully want him as a brother-in-law," Mark said with a laugh.

"But you wouldn't mind Julie marrying again?" persisted Gina.

He looked amused. "On the contrary, I always hoped she would. She's young still, and verygood-looking. You see, Julie and I haven't kept house together since our very poverty-stricken dayswhen we weren't much older than you are now. That wasn't for very long either."

"No, you were never like Sebastian and me, were you?" she said thoughtfully.

"No," he agreed with a rather wry smile, "we were never like Sebastian and you," and Gina glanced athim swiftly, thinking that Julie could never have brought very much affection into their relationship,



although she was fond of her brother in her odd, undemonstrative fashion.

"I wish you were coming home next week-end," she said a little unhappily.

He looked at her sharply. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just wish you were."

Mark had wondered for some time if Gina was troubled by Swann's attentions. He so obviouslycouldn't keep his hands off any woman for long, and since Julie had taken the girl in hand, she had lost alot of thefledgeling aspect, which in his case might have been her protection.

"Gina—the man doesn't worry you, does he?" he asked, finding it a little difficult to discuss the thingwithout taking for granted details which might not in fact exist.

Gina thought a moment before she replied. She, too, found it difficult to put forth hints without revealingtoo much. So she ended by hedging. "What do you mean exactly—worry me?"

"Well, does he make love to you?" asked Mark bluntly.

"Oh, no," replied Gina, who would never have dreamed of applying such a term to Victor's covertstrokings andsqueezings .

They walked on in silence, each busy with their thoughts. Mark was at times a little worried about Gina.Girls were such odd, secretive creatures, 'and so much could hurt them. He reflected that Julie wasn'treally much sanctuary for Gina. That distressing antagonism between them didn't allow either forconfidence or understanding. He wondered again why Julie disliked the girl so much. So often sheseemed to go out of her way to scold and snub. He supposed that Julie and Gina shouldn't really live inthe same house together but it was 'a little difficult to make any other arrangement when Gina was asyoung as this. Even supposing she was Capable of earning her own living, she could not possibly livealone, and for the present there was always Sebastian.

II

Gina was right. Sebastian was still further unsettled by Doyle's visit. All the following week he wasrestless, and discontented, cursing Mark for the most part for making him sit for his scholarship. It washard for Gina to urge him to work, since her own inclinations were so much in sympathy. There was verylittle to take her away from the Barn House just now, except oncubbing mornings, for Evan was back athis University, likewise the few young men of his age whose people lived in the place. It was a bore notto be able to go off for the day somewhere with Sebastian whenever they felt inclined and, unless shewent off by herself, it meant she was left much in Julie's company.

She dreaded the week-ends when Victor Swann was a guest in the house. He came rather frequently



now, and it was not always possible to keep out of his way. Gina had little experience of men as old asVictor, and he frightened her. She did not dare to confide in Julie, knowing instinctively that herstepmother would be her enemy in a matter of this kind, and she did not like to speak too frankly toSebastian for fear he should seize the first opportunity to have a royal row with Swann. Sebastian ratherenjoyed trailing his coat.

Victor came down on Friday evening, and Gina, in her bath, heard Sebastian playing the Dead March inSaul downstairs. She grinned to herself, lay and splashed a little longer, then got reluctantly out and beganto dry. With her usual practice of wrapping herself in a huge towel and running quickly to her room whichwas only next door, without bothering to put on a dressing-gown, she emerged from the bathroom at anunfortunate moment. Swann, who had that minute arrived, was finding his own way to his room, and wasjust then coming along the gallery towards her.

"Good evening, Gina, I like your costume," he greeted her, and smiled broadly, revealing his excellentteeth. She tried to slip past him, but he was too quick for her, and caught her by one bare shoulder."Whence the hurry, my dear? Not cold, surely, after such a hot bath. You feel as warm as toast," he said,and ran his fingers slowly over her skin.

She shivered violently. "Let me go to my room, please," she said. "I'm not properly dressed."

"Most improperly, I should say. Quite abandoned, but very charming," he said, and slowly bent hishead. She thought he was going to kiss her shoulder, and darted back, and at the same moment, Juliecame out of her room on the other side of the gallery, and saw them.

"Gina! What are you doing standing there like that? Go to your room at once and put something on,"she said so sharply that Victor jumped.

"Oh, hullo, Julie!" he said jovially, if a little guiltily.

"How are you? I met your fair stepdaughter on the way from the bath."

Gina slipped swiftly into her room and shut the door, and Julie, after a hard look at Victor's smiling face,came forward slowly and accompanied him to his room.

Gina was very quiet through dinner, and sat listening to Victor holding forth in his usual high-handedmanner, and barely spoke a word all the evening. She wore one of her new dinner-frocks and Mark'sjade necklace, and several times Julie caught Victor's gaze resting on her.

After dinner he suggested dancing, for the express purpose, Julie was sure, of being able to touch Gina.The girl tried to excuse herself on the grounds that she was tired, that she had hurt her foot, anythingwhich came into her head, until at last Julie became annoyed.

"Don't be so silly, Gina. It's the first I've heard of all these excuses," she said. "It's not very polite, doyou think? Besides, I'm getting tired myself, and Victor wants to dance."

She was obliged to give in, and Sebastian watched with enjoyment her efforts to hold herself away fromthe man, not seeing that she was miserable and afraid.

"What an unwilling little partner," Victor said above her head, then lowering his voice, added, "But areluctant woman is ten times more attractive."



Gina felt sick, and ran into Mark's study as soon as she could escape, and curled up in one of hisleather armchairs. But the room was cold without a fire, and she was forced to go into the drawing-room.Fortunately Victor and Julie were still dancing, and presently Sebastian came and joined her by the fire.

"It was as good as a play to watch you two," he said, sitting down beside her on the rug.

"I hate the man," she said with such loathing in her voice that he asked her what was wrong.

"Oh, can't you see?" she cried. "He's beastly in every way. I'm afraid of him."

"My dear old Ginny, aren't you rather exaggerating?" he said with a laugh. "The man's an awful bounder,I know, but he's so awfully obvious."

"He's beastly," she said again.

"Does he annoy you? Shall I speak to him for you? Say the word, darling, and I'll start such a row asnever was," said Sebastian, the light of battle already shining in his eyes.

"Oh, no, don't say anything. I expect I'm just stupid, that's all," she said a little wearily. That was theworst of Sebastian. He only thought of the fun.

She went up to bed early and, as luck would have it, met Victor on the stairs. Julie was nowhere to beseen. He stood barring her way and smiling down at her.

"You know what the toll for passing is, don't you?" he said.

"Why do you behave like this with me when you must see I hate it?" Gina demanded desperately,wanting if possible to avoid a scene with him.

"Because you're such fun, Gina," he said with a soft little laugh. "You haven't been made love to muchbefore, have you?—Come along, give me a little kiss to show there's no ill-feeling."

"If you don't leave me alone while you're staying here, I'll tell Julie," said Gina a little hysterically.

He made a small grimace. "Do you think she'd believe you?" he inquired with interest.

"She must know you by now," said Gina.

"My dear little girl, Julie sees just what she wants to, and always has," Victor told her. "She's a verysensible woman, and a very handsome one at that. Julie and I understand each other. Come on now, benice to me."

"Sebastian! Will you come and help me with something?" she called out, and Swann stood 'asideimmediately.

"Little devil!" he whispered as she passed him.

"It's all right, I've managed, thanks," she said from the gallery as her brother came into the hall."Good-night, darling."

The next day he appeared to have forgotten her and devoted himself to Julie. Sebastian spent all day at



the piano, too utterly absorbed in his music to notice his sister's dejection, and Gina wandered about,longing for the day to come to an end. Victor was motoring Julie to see some friends of his thirty milesaway on Sunday, so that would mean a respite.

By tea-time she had become more at ease. Victor was still taking very little notice of her, and after anearly dinner he was to escort Julie to one of the Saturday night hotel dances atEastcliff .

Reading in bed last thing, Gina heard the others come in, and after an interval during which shesupposed Victor was drinking his usual whiskey and soda, she heard Julie's voice, as they parted at thehead of the stairs, say: "Early start tomorrow, Victor. I don't want to be late back." There was the soundof a yawn, and after an interval a smothered laugh from Julie 'as she said, "You silly old thing! Go alongto bed." Then Victor's heavy tread as he passed her door to his own room next to hers.

He must have seen the light under her door, for he began to knock a soft little tattoo on the dividingwall. Presently, however, this stopped, and Gina, listening intently, heard him moving about next door.She slipped out of bed and turned the key in the lock, then put out her light and lay down.

She must have dozed off when a sound outside her door brought her back to consciousness. It was thecreak of a loose board and presently in the dim light she could just make out her door handle slowlyturning. She sat bolt upright in bed, the blood pounding in her ears, and when she heard the little click asthe lock heldfirm, she wondered what good fairy had prompted her to turn the key. The handle revolvedslowly back again, and presently there was a faint rattling sound which puzzled her at first, until with a softthud, the key fell on the carpet. He must have poked it through from the other side, and Gina, shaking inevery limb, was just wondering if she had better scream or not, when a door banged in the housesomewhere. She heard the loose board creak again, and almost immediately the sound of his bedroomdoor softly closing. It was some minutes before she could nerve herself to get out of bed and lock thedoor again. She dragged a heavy chair across the room and wedged it under the handle, then got backinto bed again and lay shivering so violently that her teeth chattered. It was dawn before she dared go tosleep, and then she was so exhausted that she slept without waking when the gong went, and it was thenoise Sebastian made hammering on her door that eventually woke her.

"Hi, Gina, wake up! It's 'after half-past ten. Let me in, will you? I've brought you some tea," he shouted.

"All right.Wait a minute," she called back, and jumping out of bed, removed the chair from the door andturned the key in the lock. Sebastian looked at her with a puzzled air as he came in, carrying a cup of teain one hand and a plate of toast in the other.

"What's the idea?" he asked suspiciously.."Have you been barricading yourself in? You evidently didn'tmean to be disturbed."

She took the tea from him 'and drank it eagerly, standing in the middle of the room in her crumpledpyjamas . Sebastian stood and watched her.

"You look rotten, Ginny. Aren't you feeling well?" he asked her.

"Sebastian—last night " she began, then pulledherself up sharply. She must give herself time to thinkbefore she put forward such an unlikely story to any of the household. "I felt rather sick," she ended. "I'llbe better later on."

"Poor darling.Take it easy today," he sympathized, still looking at her rather curiously.



"I'm all right," she replied. "What time are the other two starting?"

"They've just gone. Julie wanted to make an early start. Victor's in rather a filthy mood this morning."

"Well, I'll get dressed now if you'll clear out. Here, take this cup."

She sat down at her dressing-table and wondered what she should do. She had the wit to know that itwas useless to go to Julie with a tale of this kind, and Sebastian, if he knew, couldn't, after 'all, do verymuch but create a scene. She decided it was best to say nothing, but to change her room temporarily.When she was dressed, she went to look for the housemaid and told her what she wished to do, but hereshe met with failure.

"Mr. Swann is in the oak room, Miss Gina," the girl said. "And Mrs. Gale has kept the blue roomlocked ever since you and Mr. Sebastian kept your sick ferrets there. She has the key herself. If you askher for it when she comes in, I'll make up the bed, miss."

All day Gina deliberated, and by the time the evening came, she had worked herself into a state ofnerves that was even apparent to Sebastian.

"What is the matter, Gina? You're like a flea on a drum, and your eyes look like two burnt holes in ablanket," he said, but she put him off with some excuse, and by the time the tea-things were cleared, shehad determined to ask Julie for the key of the blue room and risk her questions. She couldn't face anothernight with Victor fumbling at her bedroom door.

She went up early to dress, so that she could catch Julie as soon as she came back. She heard themboth come in about a quarter to seven, and presently they dispersed to their respective rooms. As soonas she heard Victor's door shut, she slipped out of her room and along the gallery and knocked on herstepmother's door.

"Who is it? Oh, you, Gina. You're dressed very early."

Julie was sitting in front of her dressing-table. She had removed her hat and coat and dress, and wassitting in 'a blue wrapper, beginning to let down her hair. "Well, what is it?"

"Can I have the key of the blue room, please, Julie?" Gina asked.

"Why do you want to go in there? No more sick ferrets, I hope," Julie said with a laugh. She wasevidently in a good mood. Gina watched the shining dark coils of hair released from their knot, and Julie'swhite fingers began shaking out the strands. She had very fine hair, and had never had.it cut.

"I want to sleep in there tonight," said Gina.

She saw Julie's reflected eyebrows lift in the mirror, though she did not turn round, but merely saidfirmly, "My dear, of course you can't do any such thing. The room isn't even cleaned. You can't expectthe maids to get it ready at this hour. Anyway, they're probably out."

"I don't want it cleaned. I only want the bed made up. I'll do that myself. I can move the things from myown bed. I needn't have fresh linen," said Gina eagerly.

Then Julie turned round. "What on earth new fad is this?" she demanded slowly. "You do get the mostextraordinary ideas, Gina. Why can't you sleep in your own room tonight? Are there mice or something?"



"Julie—please let me sleep in the blue room. It can't make any difference to anyone. I won't make anyextra work," the girl pleaded.

Her stepmother turned round again to her mirror and began to brush out her hair. "My dear, I reallythink you're a little crazy sometimes," she said. "If you can't give me any sensible reason for wanting tochange, I can't see the wisdom of indulging you over such an absurd thing. Run away, dear, I want to geton."

Her face in the mirror was calm and unimaginative, and Gina felt her self-control slipping.

"Julie, I can't sleep in my room tonight. I Can't. I can't. You must let me change, you must, Julie."

Julie frowned slightly, 'and said, "You sound rather hysterical. If you feel as strongly as this about it yousurely must have a reason." She never stopped brushing her hair, and to Gina, overwrought as she waswith the accumulating events of the whole week-end, there was something deliberately maddening inthose rhythmical, steady strokes, and the girl clenched her hands at her sides and said in a voice whichwas barely steady:

"Julie, you must understand—Victor "

"Victor?" Julie was moved at last. The' brushing ceased, 'and she sat motionless before herdressing-table, staring into the glass. "What has Victor got to do with you changing your room?"

Gina should have been warned by Julie's voice which was suddenly hard and unyielding, but by this timeshe was too strung up to know what she was saying, and the words tumbled from her lips in frightenedjerks.

"Last night he tried to get into my room. I'd locked the door, but he poked the key through from theother side. I was terrified. But you must see now that I must change my room to this side of the house. Icouldn't bear it to happen again. I couldn't."

There was a complete silence,then Julie said icily, "I don't think you can have any idea of what you aresaying. How do you dare to come here 'and tell me a story like this about a guest of mine? Poked thekey through from the other side! What a tale! And what happened then?"

"You don't believe me! But it's true, I swear it. A door banged and he went away, but tonight he'll comeback.—Julie, I'm frightened."

Then Julie turned round, and her eyes were blazing.

"Once and for 'all, Gina, I've had enough of your soft little tricks," she said. "I've watched you withVictor. Running after him as you run after Mark—"

"Julie, stop it!"

"—Youstand talking to Victor in nothing but a towel, and then lose your head if he shows you a littleadmiration. What else do you expect?" She had worked herself into a cold fury, and she rose to her feet,now, confronting the distraught girl, and continued, "If he came to your room last night, it was becauseyou expected him to. You said yourself you locked your door. Was that an innocent action? Oh, no,Gina, you may fool Mark, but you can't fool me. You deserve all you get."



She stopped at last, and Gina gasped out, "I think you're mad, Julie. Why do you say such terriblethings? Why do you hate me so?" She began to cry, a painful tearless sobbing which hurt her. "I wish Iwas dead. I wish I was dead."

Julie stood regarding her dispassionately for a moment or two,then she looked suddenly very tired. "Oh,go away and leave me," she said more wearily than roughly, and Gina, feeling she was choking, ranunseeing from the room and down the staircase. It was only a little after seven by the clock in the bend ofthe stairs, and Gina met Sweeny coming up.

"The master's returned," he said. "I was just coming to tell the mistress, Miss Gina—och!goodness me,what's the matter now?" For Gina, not having heard a word he wassaying, had fled past him and acrossthe hall to the study. Half-blind with sobs and terror, she ran straight into Mark's arms as he turned at thesound of her flying feet.

"Good gracious!child , what's happened to you?" he exclaimed in alarm.

Gina scarcely even realized who he was, but could only gasp for breath, then she became aware of firmhands supporting her, and suddenly the hard tearing sobbing changed to stormy weeping, and shecollapsed in his arms.

III

For a long time she could only cry distractedly, and as he held her he caught phrases here and there.

"Why . . . why . . . she hates me . . . she doesn't know . . . I was afraid ... I wish ... I'd never come here... I wish . . . dead."

"Steady, Gina. My dear—try and stop.Don't cry like this. What is it? Tell me," said Mark, distressedbeyond measure. There was something desolate in her weeping which moved him unbearably."Poorchild.Poor little sweet." He picked her up in his arms and carried her over to a chair. There wassomething so slight and immature about her thin body in its flimsy frock. She was so light and small. Heput her into one of the big leather chairs, and sat beside her on the edge. The leather struck chill on herbare arms, and she huddled against him.

"It's cold," she said, and her tears suddenly became the easy relaxing tears of childhood, which bringonly relief, and she leant against him, exhausted and sobbing but released from anguish.

"Now what is it?" he asked gently, when she was quieter.

Wearily she began to speak. "I had a frightful row with Julie. She said dreadful things to me. I wasfrightened. . . ."



"What was it all about?"

"I'd rather not tell you. I don't want to make any more scenes," she said.

"Supposing I ask Julie?"

"I don't think she'll tell you. It doesn't matter now you've come back. I didn't know you were coming. Iwish I had."

"Nobody knew. You don't feel inclined to confide in me, then?"

"It wouldn't do any good."

"Are you sure? I might be 'able to help, you know."

"But it would be the wrong way," said Gina unhappily.

He was a little puzzled. "Had Swann anything to do with it?"

She made no answer, and he said gently, "All right, my dear. I won't force you. Perhaps you'll tell melater on."'

"Oh, Mark, why does Julie hate me so?" cried Gina desolately. "I never knew until tonight quite howmuch she did hate me. Why? I've never done anything to her. She doesn't hate Sebastian."

"Poor child!I'm terribly sorry," he said, slowly ruffling up her hair. "People are so strange, Gina. Youcan't tell what queer forces may be working underneath. I've never, myself, understood Julie's attitude.But 'after this, I'll speak to her, of course."

"Oh, don't," she said quickly. "She doesn't like you standing up for me."

"How do you know I do stand up for you?"

"Well, you do sometimes, don't you?"

He smiled."Sometimes. But, Gina, I'm not going to have this sort of thing happening again. You'll makeyourself ill. I shall certainly speak to Julie."

She pushed back the tumbled hair from her forehead and sniffed. Her pointed face was pinched andtired with weeping, her lips very white. In spite of the enchanting frock and Mark's necklace, she lookedplain.

"I can't go in to dinner like this," she said. "The Swann would notice." She shivered a little, and Markgot to his feet and rang the bell.

"Of course you can't. I tell you what. We'll both have something in here together—chicken orsomething, and a bottle of wine. We'll consult Sweeny. Would you like that?"

"It would be lovely. You're a dear, Mark."

"Good, that's splendid. Now we'll have a fire."



Some logs were already laid in the grate, and he struck a match and soon had flames roaring up thechimney.

Sweeny knocked at the door, and Mark gave him his Orders."And a bottle of the Perrier-Jouettoo,Sweeny."

He came back before very long with a laden tray, and set it on a small table before the fire.

"Does Mrs. Gale know I'm back?" Mark asked.

"Itould her alright, but shetuk no heed. I declare to God the house is broke up entirely. The mistress inher room with aboulted door, and that Swann and Master Sebastian in the dining-roomglowerin ' at eachother with their four eyesacrost the table so that anyone would think there wasmurther about." Sweenywent out of the room, muttering and shaking his head, and Mark poured out a glass of champagne forGina.

"Poor child!You look all in," he said as he handed it to her. All through the intimate little meal he fussedover her, coaxing her to eat when she said she couldn't, making her laugh when she looked unhappy.

When finally the table was pushed back and they lit cigarettes, Gina curled up in her chair with a feelingof relaxation. There was no need now to worry about the night. Victor wouldn't dare to molest her withMark in the house. She wondered if he and Julie had fought things out. It rather looked as thoughsomething of the kind had happened. She grinned with a return of her old spirit at the thought ofSebastian and the Swann diningtete-a-tete .

"Feeling better now?" asked Mark, who had been watching her.

She nodded."Much; only awfully tired. I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Well, you must do better than that tonight. I'm going to pack you off to bed really early, and I'll sendyou up something to make you sleep," he told her.

"You are kind to me," she said.

"You're only just beginning to let me be," he replied with a tiny grimace, and she laughed. "You don'tdislike me so profoundly, do you?"

"Oh, Mark! I never disliked you in a personal way," she protested. "I disliked you as a benefactor. Ihated being dependent. I don't mind so much with Julie. After all, she married Father, so she'sresponsible for us in a way, but we've no claim on you."

"I see. But what will you do when you marry, Gina? You'll be just as dependent on your husband.You'll have nothing to bring him, you know," he said slowly.

"I shan't like it," said Gina frankly. "But after all, I'll be marrying him, and that ought to be enough foranyone."

"Bravo! So it ought!" he laughed. "Don't be in too much of a hurry though, will you? There's plenty of;time."



"There isn't," she replied swiftly and unexpectedly. "There's no time at all. Sebastian's going to Oxford.Julie may marry again. What's going to happen to me? I shall have to marry because I haven't got acareer. Sebastian and I ought to have changed places really. It would have been much more suitable."

He reflected that this was in all probability true. She had more staying-power than her brother. But thethought of Gina married for want of any better occupation, perhaps to the first man who asked her, wasintolerable, and he said abruptly:

"What nonsense, Gina. You shouldn't be considering such things at all. And don't you dare think ofmarrying anyone without asking me."

She looked at him in surprise, observed his frown and the straight set of his lips, and suddenly liked himenormously.

"Why did you come back today, Mark?" she asked him curiously.

He hesitated a moment then replied, "Last Sunday you sounded rather as if you might have liked me tobe here. I just wondered how the Swann was behaving himself, that's all. I think it's a good thing I didcome, don't you?"

"It was terribly nice of you," she said gratefully. "I wish I didn't look quite so frightful for our champagneparty, though."

He got up and crossed over to her, standing for a moment looking down at her slight figure, the firelightputting livecolour into her shining hair. He smiledNlowly .

"You foolish child!" he said softly, and stooped to kiss her. But he was quite unprepared for the impulsewhich made her suddenly fling her arms round his neck and hug him. "That was charming of you, Gina,"he said. "Now you're going to stay quietly here by the fire while I have a word with Julie, and then I shallsend you to bed."

He threw another log on the fire and left her. He met Victor and Sebastian leaving the dining-room, onelooking as sulky as theother, and said shortly, "Good evening, Swann. Please don't either of you disturbGina. She's not feeling well, and I've left her in the study. I'll be down later."

"Lord, lord! Everyone's crazy!" he heard Sebastian mutter, and the sound of the piano being playedrather viciously followed him up to Julie's room.

CHAPTER VI



I

MARK knocked, saying, "It's Mark, Julie. Can I come in?"

There was a short pause, then he heard his sister move across the room, the key turned in the lock andshe threw open the door.

"Well?"

She stood confronting him, very straight in her blue wrapper. Her hair was still falling about hershoulders, and her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she, too, had been crying.

"Well?" she said again.

Mark came in and closed the door behind him. "I want to talk to you," he said.

"You've seen Gina—naturally."

"I don't like that 'naturally,'".he said quietly. "Yes, I've seen Gina."

"Well—"

"I found her almost hysterical," he said deliberately. "She tells me you and she had some sort of a row.I'd like to know what it was about."

"Didn't Gina tell you?" 'askedJulie incredulously.

"No, she wouldn't. But I should like to know all the same what could justify such a condition. The childwas in a terrible state," he said watching her face.

She turned away from him and went back to her dressing-table, where she sat down, and, taking up alittle ivory buffer, began to polish her nails.

"If Gina hasn't told you the reason for our disagreement, it's quite clearly because she realizes she hasbeen very foolish," she said. "So, if I were you, Mark, I wouldn't ask any more questions."

"Julie!" he exclaimed impulsively. "What's happened to you since you came back from Ireland? Youwere perhaps always a little hard—even in the old days—but I don't remember this bitterness of spiritwhich seems to have possessed you lately."

She paused abruptly in her polishing,then went on again, with the same leisurely strokes. "You forget,quite a lot has happened to me since the old days, Mark," she said quietly.



"My dear, of course I haven't," he replied."But surely not enough to make you so bitter."

"I'm not bitter," she said wearily."Only disillusioned."

"Your marriage wasn't a great success, was it?" he said gently.

"No."

"Oh, my dear, it was a mad marriage, anyway.You of all people to undertake a ready-made Irishhousehold and two stepchildren. What made you do it, Julie? I've often wondered."

There was a silence, then she answered, still quietly polishing, "Perhaps it never occurred to you,Mark,that I might be in love with my husband."

He was silent. Oddly enough it never had occurred to him. He knew that Julie had wanted a home ofher own, and had imagined that to be the main reason for her sudden marriage nearly five years ago. Forall her good looks, she had never been very attractive to men, and Denis Gale, at the time she hadmarried him, was a man of over forty-five, still with the charms he must have possessed to a very greatextent as a young man, but weak and lazy and unreliable. Sebastian was very like him.

"I thought I could change things. I thought when you cared enough you could do anything."

Julie stared at her reflection in the glass and spoke 'as if somehow impelled to. It was the first time shehad everalluded to her brief married life in any but a purely practical way.

"I was a fool. I didn't understand the Irish shiftlessness. They give everything because they've nothing togive. They can afford to be beggars, because they've nothing to lose." She threw the buffer with a littleclatter among the brushes and bottles. Mark was silent, and she said, with complete self-control, "Deniswas passionately in love with his first wife—to the end. Gina is very like her, I'm told. She was with himwhen he died. He thought she was her mother."

"And you take it out on Gina?" Mark said very gently, understanding at last.

She wheeled round upon him. "Gina, Gina!—always Gina!" she cried, and he saw that her eyes werebright with tears. "Can you think of no one else? Gina is young—she has all her life before her, and if youfall in love with that girl, Mark, you'll be a bigger fool than I was."

He regarded her steadily for a moment in silence,then he said quietly, "That's a very rash thing to say,Julie."

She scrutinized his grave face, trying to find there the exact meaning of his words, then turned back toher mirror and took up a comb.

"Will you leave me now, Mark?" she said in her usual tones. "I shan't come down as it's after nine. I'mrather tired."

She began to plait her hair for the night, and Mark

tooka step towards her. "Julie "



"Good-night, dear," she said, and smiled at him in the glass.

II

Gina leant propped against the stable door and watched Sweeny clipping the Southern Belle.Tomorrow was the day of the opening meet, and the early November sun shone brightly on the newlycleanedsaddlery waiting inreadiness.

"Which ofyous is riding tomorrow?" Sweeny asked.

"We haven't decided yet," said Gina. "I expect Sebastian will."

"We'll toss for it," said Sebastian. "Lend me a penny, Sweeny. Heads you lose, tails you win—heads itis. You lose, Gina, and I'm glad that I was unable to deprive you of the pleasure you so unselfishlywished me to enjoy."

"If I'm killed I shall haunt you," said Gina gloomily.

Gina rode to the meet in white-lipped endurance. Nervous anticipation spoilt, as always, any pleasureshe may have felt at being on a horse, 'and she experienced that sick sensation in the stomach whichinvariably comes from nerves and the want of a proper breakfast.

Both the young Gales had always suffered from this particular shrinking, and in the stubborn fashion oftheir generation continued to do what they intensely disliked, sooner than admit their reluctance.Sebastian, the better rider of the two, put up the poorer show. He was afraid of falling. Gina, who fellfrequently, was afraid of something far more intangible. The whole atmosphere of hunting alarmed her,from the first sinister burst of music from hounds to the final check.

The meet was well attended, and Gina, viewing the long rows of cars stretching away down the road,thought withunsportsman -like satisfaction that it didn't look as though they would get much sport today.She could see Colonel Hunter on a hireling and farther on Sir Charles Napier attending to his wife'sstirrup-leather, while a groom led his magnificent chestnut up and down. Nancy Pratt was there, riding 'anew grey mare. She looked well on ahorse, sitting side-saddle in a perfectly cut blue habit, and Ginawatched her coquetting with a couple of young men, who were plainly enchanted.

The Southern Belle, newly clipped and cold, looked bony and camel-like. Her neck archedaggressively, 'and she showed her contempt for everyone by kicking a hound. Gina, feeling herself thecentre of cold displeasure, hurriedly removed herself and the mare farther away, and presently theMaster arrived, looking a little cross, and the field moved off to their first draw.

As Gina had hoped, there were far too many spectators to permit of much sport, and they were stillcantering from covert to covert at half-past two. Gina, feeling that at three o'clock of a blank day she wasjustified in turning her face homewards, was just beginning to think that hunting after all was not so bad,



when someone viewed a fox a couple of fields away.

Gina, astride the Belle, shortened her reins, and clung on for dear life. Three fences safely over—afourth. At the fifth she went flying over the mare's head, and, squat-ting in the mud, watched the Spratsitting firm in the saddle, come sailing over the fence with the utmost ease. Someone caught the mare andput her up again.

"Why don't you ride in a side-saddle, Gina?" Nancy said when they checked for 'a moment. "Womenhave no grip astride. You wouldn't fall nearly so often—really you wouldn't."

Gina gave her a glance of hatred, and turning the Belle's head, sent her at the next fence with all theforce her failing spirit could command. The Belle jumpedprotestingly , tangling her hoofs in a last spasmof petulance, and took a header on the other side, hurling Gina to earth.

It was Sir Charles Napier who came to her aid. "What a very mettlesome young lady you are!" he saidwith a twinkle, as he helped her to her feet and assured himself she wasn't hurt. She limped a bit, havingbruised her thigh on a stone, but the mare was caught for the second time, and Gina hoisted herself intothe saddle with a sigh of relief, and departed for home.

Nancy went with her. "It's nearly four, I've had enough," she said. There was a faint respect in her eyesas she looked at Gina, but she couldn't help saying "That was silly, Gina. You might have really hurtyour-self."

"I might, but I didn't," said Gina shortly.

"Have you heard from Evan lately?" asked Nancy.

"Why should I? We never write to each other."

"Oh, don't you? He writes a lot to me. He's coming down this week-end."

"Is he?"

"Um.I expect he'll come over and see you on Sunday. You're such friends, aren't you? He may take mein to dance 'atEastcliff on Saturday night. Evan's a divine dancer."

Gina ground her teeth silently. The Sprat was an abominable piece of work. Gina was aware that Evanhad had her up for May Week in June. Nancy hadn't let anyone forget it inWestham Street for weeksafter.

"My dear child, you're filthy!" Julie exclaimed when Gina got home.

"Yes, I fell off," she replied, limping stiffly across the hall. "Can I have my tea before I change, if I takeoff my boots, Julie? I want to lie for hours in a bath."

"All right.Tea's just coming now," Julie said, and went into the drawing-room. Since that unfortunateweek-end, their relations had been a little easier. At first, there was an obvious strain. Gina wasuncomfortable and Julie uncompromising. But she clearly did not mean to allude to the incident again, andgradually the awkwardness went out of their respective attitudes. Gina frequently wondered what hadpassed between Julie and Mark, but she was certain that her stepmother would have left Victor out ofany discussion she may have had with her brother. She also wondered what Julie and Victor had said to



one another about the affair. She was never sure if Julie had had it out with him, or had decided to ignorethe whole business. Swann had departed the next morning before Gina came down for breakfast.

She got Sweeny to pull her boots off for her, and followed Julie into the drawing-room. "This is the bestpart of hunting," she said with conviction as she tackled a boiled egg. "I'm going to be stiff tomorrow.Where's Sebastian?"

"I haven't seen him all day." Julie paused,then said impulsively, "I'm a bit worried, Gina. Sebastian oughtto be working hard now till he goes up for his scholarship. There's not much more than another threeweeks left."

"I know.Time's getting awfully short," Gina agreed.

"I think you do understand how very important it is for him to succeed this time," Julie went on. "But Ican't impress it on Sebastian. He only laughs and says what does it matter. But Mark cannot afford tosend him to Oxford entirely unaided, and I don't know what he's to do if he stays here."

"I don't see that we can do more than we do," Gina said slowly. "I've been at him on and off all the time.But you can't go at him too much. It does harm in the end."

"If you can get him to look at it from Mark's point of view," said Julie, "it might help. He can't do muchhimself, now he's back in town."

"All right," Gina said rather doubtfully, and cracked the top of her second egg.

But when she came to tackle her brother, she realized almost at once that it would have been better hadshe let him alone.

"It's all very well for you, Ginny, you only have to look on," he said resentfully. "You don't have tosweat over these damn fool kid's lessons as though you were back at school, neither do you have tocontemplate the deadly prospect of learning how to be a little gent at one of England's great universities."

"Well, it isn't as bad as you make out," said Gina impatiently. "After all, you'll be kept for nothing. Youdon't have to work hard, and you can go on composing to your heart's content."

"It isn't that. It's the principle of the thing. We shouldn't be yoked to authority, as I've told you before.What right has Mark to arrange our futures for us in his lordly way?"

"He hasn't arranged mine."

"You bet he has. He's got something all nicely fixed up for little Gina.Probably a good sensiblemarriage."

"He doesn't want me to marry in a hurry. He said so. Though I suppose in all decency I shall have to getmy-self off Julie's hands," she remarked gloomily. "Anyway, he has a certain claim on us, Sebastian. Afterall, he keeps us."

"And why the devil shouldn't he?" demanded Sebastian in exasperated tones. "I keep telling you he's gotmoney and we haven't. He hasn't got a wife, or any children. What harm do we do him?"

"But can't you see that he needn't do it? It's just his generosity—because we're Julie's dependents. So



he makes us his dependents too," cried Gina, with a bitter note creeping into her voice to match the cut ofher young mouth. She had thrust out her chin, and was frowning, and her red hair stood on end from theagitated workings of her restive hands.

"Now you look like a witch," said Sebastian unkindly."A horrid, moral, nagging little witch."

It was so seldom that he spoke to her in this vein that her eyes filled with quick tears. "That's beastly ofyou," she retorted. "I'm only trying to put the case clearly."

"Whose case?Mark's, of course.You listen to Mark 'a great deal more than you used to," saidSebastian calculatingly. "How has he got at you?By means of his fatal attraction?"

"What a rotten thing to say!" she cried, clenching her hands. "If you can't see that you're behavingmeanly, you needn't try and head me off with foul suggestions like that." She marched out of the roomand banged the door, and Sebastian, already feeling a little ashamed ofhimself , laughed defiantly.

III

Half an hour later they made it up.

"Darling Ginny, I was only teasing you—I didn't meanIn he foul," Sebastian pleaded.

"And I didn't mean to nag. I do want you to pass, Sebastian."

"All right then, I will. Take me as having passed."

Sebastian went in search of his books, and Gina went happily to bed, where she laid her aching limbs inthankfulness that the day was over at last.

But the end of the week found Sebastian 'as restive as ever, and Mark, arriving on Friday night, did notimprove the position by taking him sharply to task. "Pompous high-falutinfool," Sebastian burst out toGina after the interview. "These English can think of nothing but money."

Gina was brushingDogsbody on Saturday morning, when the Hunters' car drew up at the gate and Evancame running into the yard.

"Hullo, Gina! It's good to see you again!" he exclaimed whole-heartedly.

"Evan!" She sprang to her feet at the first sight of his familiar good-looking young face, and he took bothher hands in his. "Jove, you do look well," he said with faint astonishment, looking her up and down, andGina knew that looking well in Evan's eyes meant looking attractive.

"Oh, of course, you haven't seen me since my grooming process has taken place," she laughed. "I'm not



looking my best now, but when I'm wearing all my finery, I'm formidable, I tell you."

"I'm sure you must be. Look here, I wondered if you'd come and dance inEastcliff tonight. You know,the old

Saturday night hotel hops they have. It might be quite amusing," he said.

She looked at him, eyes aslant, wondering shrewdly whether he had come over especially to ask herthat, or whether he had only just thought of it.

"I'd love it," she said simply. "Wait till I ask Julie if you can come and dine first."

She took special pains with her appearance that night. She was excited, and she brushed her short hairuntil it shone like fire, and curled brightly about her small head. Lipstick—a dash of scent behind the ears,the lasttwistings before the long mirror, and she was ready. She caught up a little embroidered bag, andran downstairs.

Evan was talking to Mark when she appeared, and he' stopped for a perceptible moment while hewatched her cross the hall, then turned back to Mark with an obvious effort.

Gina looked vivid enough in her full green taffeta frock, with her flaming head 'and brilliant eyes. Markwatched her with interest through dinner, as she thrust and parried with Evan, who was not nearly quickenough for her, and thought of that evening in his stud}': Gina, a distracted, frightened child, sobbing herheart out in his arms: Gina saying quaintly, "I wish I didn't look quite so frightful for our champagne party":Julie's bitter "If you fall in love with that girl, Mark, you'll be a bigger fool than I was." And now—theyoung Gina, aware at last of her charm, using it delicately for Evan, her agile mind leaping from peak topeak with true Celtic quickness. His strong fingers suddenly gripped the fine stem of his wineglass with afierce pressure, and, with a little ping!it snapped. The wine spilled over the polished table in a glowingamber stream, and Julie said quickly:

"Oh, Mark, how on earth did you do it?"

At theEastcliff hotel, where they danced, Evan and Gina found Nancy Pratt, who, for once, blushedscarlet at the sight of them. She had waited until the last minute for Evan's unforthcoming invitation, whichhad resulted in her having to fall back on a much less attractive escort. She looked daggers at Gina, thedimplesundisplayed for once, and after a greeting of joyous surprise to Evan turned back to Gina andsaid:

"I'm so glad you're all right after Tuesday. Did the mare have a sore back when you got home?"

But Gina was beyond Nancy's little shafts. She knew what she was feeling at heart. It was only addedbalm, when Evan, releasing her after their first dance, said warmly,

"How well you dance, Gina. I'd no idea. You know, to look at Nancy you'd think she was like a pieceof thistledown, but the odd part of it is she can't dance. It was rather a let-down when I discovered thatat the Trinity Ball."

The evening was an entire success. They danced every dance untiringly. Their steps fitted admirably,and Evan, who was not too tall, was a comfortable partner for her. The band played The Merry Widowand Daisy Bell, and they whirled faster than anyone, Gina giddy and laughing, her wide green skirts flyingout around her.



"Oh, what fun!" she gasped, as the music stopped, and they sank exhausted upon two chairs.

When it was time to go, they passed Nancy waiting in the lounge for her escort.

"Oh, Evan—when am I going to see you?" she asked, stopping him. She wassmart, and absurdly prettyin her white frock and a little white fur jacket with a huge stand-up collar. Evan smiled down 'at her.

"I'll be over tomorrow, sometime," he promised.

"Good. Perhaps you might come to supper. Ring up in the morning."

"Well, I'm not sure—I'll let you know. Thanks 'awfully, though." He piloted Gina out to the car, sayingcarelessly, "Awfully pretty, isn't she?"

Gina joyously sniffed the salt-tangedair as they drove along the front, and settled down happily and alittle drowsily in the warmth of the car for the long drive back. This was fun. This was being alive. Sheglanced up at Evan's golden profile against his dark turned-up collar, and snuggled into Julie's fur coat,borrowed for the occasion.

IV

The week-end passed quickly enough for Gina, since Evan appeared early the next morning, andcarried her off for the day in his car. But to Sebastian, Sunday was interminable. He spent the morningworking under the supervision of Mark, who appeared to be particularly abrupt and down on him thatday and finished up by giving him another strong talking-to, which ended with the boy slamming out of theroom, and out of the house, and not returning till night.

On Monday mornings, someone had to drive Mark to the station. This was generally Sweeny's office,but if his other duties happened to call him elsewhere, cither Gina or Sebastian would go. On thisparticular Monday, Mark knocked on Gina's door and asked her if she would mind going, as there wasno one else. Gina, who had been drowsily waiting for the gong to ring, hurriedly leapt out of bed, andflung on her clothes as quickly as she was able. There was no time for either facial adornment onbreakfast, and she seized the first coat that came to hand and rushed out to the garage to fetch the car.

"Sorry, Gina," Mark said apologetically as he came out of the house. "I'd have rung up for a taxi, if I'dknown you were still in bed! Thanks, I'll drive myself. You can smash the car up on the way home!"Gina's driving had long been considered a joke, and she moved into the other seat with a little laugh.

He had scarcely seen anything of her this week-end. He glanced at her now, bare-headed, the windblowing her red hair back from her ears, leaving her face sharp and elf-like.

"Enjoy your week-end?" he asked casually.



"Um."

"Young Hunter's good-looking."

"Um."

"Lost your heart to him, Gina?" He surprised a faint blush at this,then she answered slowly and withoutturning her face.

He is so beautiful to look at. Really beautiful, I mean, in the way a statue is. I can never resist beautifulthings."

He was silenced by her reply, so genuine, so unexpected it had been. Nine girls out of ten would haveaccompanied that blush with a prompt: "Of course not. How silly you are!" It was only later on that herealized that he still hadn't learnt what he wanted from her answer.

"Don't let that brother of yours slack at this eleventh hour," he said. "I depend on you to get himthrough."

She turned then, and her tilted eyes were suddenly distressed. "Oh, Mark, I have tried," she saidearnestly. "Julie talked to me during the week about it and I spoke to Sebastian, but we only succeededin quarrelling. I don't want him to let you down. I'm as keen as you are for him to get through. I realize,from your point of view, how necessary it is." She remembered him comforting her in her distress, andfelt again the sharp intimacy of that evening together. "You are so good to us both. I do appreciate it."

"Don't, for heaven's sake, always feel this awful weight of obligation," he said a little gruffly. "I don'twant you of all people to feel beholden to me."

It was 'a word she had so often used herself in connection with him that she was silent, and glancing athis dark profile she thought he looked tired and a little sad.

"Mark, I wish I could do something for you," she said impulsively. "I wish I could give you something.But I haven't anything to give."

He found that he couldn't meet her eyes just then, but he said with a simple rush of gratitude whichtouched her sharply, "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me, Gina. Thank you." Then headded in his more usual tones, "I haven't done anything for you, after all."

She smiled at him. "You're always doing things for me," she said, and resolved, with a fierceness whichrushed suddenly over her, that Sebastian should be made to work whatever happened. Mark could notbe disappointed when he took such a real, uncalled-for interest in them.

In the train, he leant out of the window and bade her good-bye. "Many thanks for turning out. Gocarefully on the way back, Gina. Don't take risks. And eat a good breakfast when you get in."

Gina drove home, filled with a burning championship for Mark, and nearly collided with Sebastian, whowas turning out of the drive-gates at full gallop in the donkey-cart.

"Where are you going?" she shouted.



"Neveryou mind ," replied Sebastian, his green eyes dancing. "I'm off for a grand spree. Back the car soI can get past."

"How long will you be gone?" demanded Gina, paying no attention.

"How do I know? All day, all night—I can't tell."

"Aren't you going to do any work then?"

"Work?"

"Sebastian, I do think it's foul of you, as soon as Mark's back is turned—"

"Blast! Why do you always drag in the Judge?As if he wasn't bad enough when he was here. I slaved allyesterday."

"Only in the morning.Anyway, it has to be done. It's not very long now."

"Who says it has to be done? Oh, chuck it, Ginny, and back the car."

Gina settled herself firmly at the wheel. "I won't," she said, thrusting out her chin. "If I have to sit here allday, I won't till you take back the ass and get to work."

Sebastian looked at his sister sharply,then his temper flared up. "Get to blazes out of here!" he shouted.

"Get to blazes out of ityourself !" she shouted back.

Sebastian sprang out of the cart and rushed at his sister.

"I'll make you get out! I'll make you get out!" he yelled, seizing her by the shoulders and shaking her.She clutched at his thick hair and tugged, now as angry as he.

"Leave me alone, you nasty little pimp!" she screamed. "Take your dirty hands off me! Go back to yourcousin the ass!"

At this moment, attracted by the noise, Julie, closely followed by Sweeny, came hurrying from thehouse.

"Gina! Sebastian! Have you gone mad?" Julie exclaimed. "Come in at once, and stop quarrelling. Doyou want every passer-by to hear what you're saying?"

They released each other and turned glowering faces upon Julie, which so exactly resembled each otherfor the moment that she had to laugh.

"Take the car back to the garage, Gina, please," she said. "What were you doing with the donkey-cart,Sebastian? You've got to work today, you know. No slacking for the next fortnight. Put her back in thepaddock, Sweeny."

Sebastian followed his stepmother into the house. He was white with rage, and without a word to Juliehe rushed upstairs, and locked himself into his room. Gina came in from the garage and went into thedining room. !oeat some belated breakfast. She too was white, and her green eyes blazed. She splashed



some coffee into a cup and banged it down beside her plate.

"Really, Gina, you're both too old to behave like this," said Julie, standing in the doorway and watchingher. "You so seldom quarrel. What happened?"

"Nothing," said Gina briefly, and with a slight shrug Julie left her.

Sebastian was not to be seen all day, and Julie, knowing he was shut in his bedroom, left him alone,hoping that he might after all have come to his senses and be working. But when dinner was ready and hestill didn't appear, she became annoyed.

"He can't go on behaving like this," she said. "It's too absurd. He must come down and eat a propermeal. Run up and fetch him, Gina."

Gina went and knocked on her brother's door. It was unlike Sebastian to keep up a quarrel all this time.She got no answer and knocked again.

"Do let me in, Sebastian darling. Don't sulk. You never do," she begged, and rattled the handle. Itturned in her hand, and the door opened quite easily. It wasn't locked at all, and the room was empty.

Gina went in. She began to feel frightened and looked wildly round the room. Foolscap was scatteredover a small desk, and across one of the sheets was hastily scrawled:

"To anyone it may concern. I'm sick of you all and I've hooked it. No one need worry, as I'm sure noone will havework waiting for me.

"SEBASTIAN GALE."

Gina snatched up the paper and rushed down the stairs crying: "Julie, Julie!"

"He's gone!" she said tragically, as her stepmother came into the hall. "He's chucked everything. I felt itmight happen.Oh, Julie!" She began to cry.

CHAPTER VII



I

JULIE took Sebastian's message and read it carefully. "The young fool!" she exclaimed furiously.

"What's to be done?" sobbed Gina.

"There's nothing can be done," Julie answered curtly.

"He must be brought back. We can't let Mark down like this. We must find him."

"How on earth can we? He tells us nothing, you see. We have no idea where he is."

"I have," said Gina, her tears ceasing promptly. "He's gone to that filthy swine Doyle. Sebastian alwayssaid he'd find him work if he wanted. That's where he is. He's with Doyle."

"It looks like it," admitted Julie slowly.

"I'm sure of it. There's no one else he knows in England outside this place. I'll go up and fetch him backtomorrow. It's too late now."

"But where would you look?"

"I've only got to go to the Grand Hotel and get Doyle's address. The band's playing there."

"I don't altogether like it, Gina. I think I ought to come with you—or send Mark," Julie said doubtfully.

"No, Julie, that wouldn't do. I'd reason with him far better by myself. And you mustn't send Mark. He'dbe hopeless. Besides, we might be able to work it without him knowing anything about it. Let me go,Julie. I'll get him back, I swear it."

"All right.But straight there and back, Gina, and if you get into any difficulties ring up Mark.I feel I reallyought to do that anyhow, but I don't want to worry him if you think you can manage alone."

Gina went up to London early after breakfast the next morning. Julie gave her some money and droveher to the station. "Do your best, Gina," she said. "Make him listen to you. He will, I think. He doesn'treally know what he wants."

Arrived in London, she went straight to the Grand Hotel, but here she received her first check. None ofthe private addresses of Bud Brown's "boys" were known to the management, and the band was playingin Manchester this week.

"Manchester!" exclaimed Gina in dismay. "How do I get there?"

The manager looked at her a little oddly. "You go from Euston, madam. There's a train about midday ifit's really urgent, but—" he said a little doubtfully. This young lady certainly didn't look like a possessionof any of the "boys," though of course you never could tell.



"It's very urgent," said Gina firmly, and inquired the way to Euston.

She arrived in Manchester about the middle of the afternoon, and went straight to the hotel where shehad been told the band was engaged.

"I want to speak to Mr. Fred Doyle," she told a waiter, when at last she could find someone to pay anyattention to her. She waited a long time, then the man returned to say there was no Mr. Fred Doyle in theband.

Check again. "But there must be," she said desperately. "He's the vocalist. He was with them not longago. Let me speak to one of them, then."

The man went off reluctantly, and appeared after the next dance with a willowy young man with hair likepatent-leather.

"You want Doyle, do you?" he said, ogling Gina un-pleasantly. "Didn't he tell you he was leaving us?Naughty boy! He left last week." He dusted his sleeve with a mauve handkerchief, and wafted a strongperfume to Gina's nostrils as he did so.

"Can you give me his present address?" she asked a little stiffly.

He shrugged his shoulders, and looked at her with his head on one side. "Oh, that wouldn't be fair," hesaid, smiling odiously.

At that moment the band began to play Paupers' Parade, and Gina said in exasperated tones, "I'm not inthe least interested in Mr. Doyle, but I'm trying to find my brother, who wrote this tune, and I think hemay be with him. Now will you tell me?"

"Oh, you're the young Gale's sister," the young man said with a change of tone. "I thought you were thedame Freddie was trying to shake off. I'm afraid I can't help you much. Freddie's gone back to Ireland.Went yesterday."

"Ireland!" said Gina in dismay. "Oh, lord! You don't happen to know if my brother went withhim? "

"I think he very likely did. Freddie had been saying for a long time they expected to combine a job. Hewas a great believer in your brother's ability. That little number's been a rare success."

"Yes, but do you know?'

"Well—Freddie's contract finished last week and he told one of the boys yesterday that a friend hadsuddenly turned up and they'd decided to go back to their own country and find work there."

"I see. Thank you very much. I m sorry to have kept you," said Gina, white-faced, and left the hotel.

She had just enough money to buy a ticket back to London, and sat back in her carriage wonderingwhat on earth she should do now. She decided after thinking out several wildly impossible schemes, thatthe only thing left todo, was to see Mark immediately she arrived and demand the fare to Ireland. It nevercrossed her mind that he would scarcely allow her to go chasing all that way alone after Sebastian, and ifshe hadn't run out of money, she wouldn't have dreamed of asking his advice.

It was after seven when she arrived at Euston, and she rushed into a public call-box and rung up Mark's



chambers.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Proctor left about ten minutes ago. No, madam, I have no idea where he is going."

Another call, this time to Mark's flat.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Proctor is not expected in till late. No, madam, I have no idea where he might be."

Gina stood outside the call-box and thought furiously. It had become desperately important to her tofetch Sebastian back without further delay. She had crossed the Irish Sea enough times to think nothingof dashing off to Ireland by herself in search of her brother, and the only difficulty was money. However,since money had always been lacking in the Gale family and the want of it had never yet stood in theirway, Gina firmly believed that if she thought long enough the problem would solve itself.

She marched down the Euston Road and into a grimy-looking pawn-shop.

"What'll you give me on these?" she asked,laying upon the counter Mark's jade necklace, and anold-fashioned brooch of her mother's which she happened to be wearing.

The man glanced at the things and wiped a drop off the end of his nose with his cuff. "Whatd'you want?"he said inevitably.

"Ten pounds," said Gina, because she believed ten to be lucky.

He gave a dry guffaw."My dear young lady!Ten pounds?For beads!"

"They're jade and cost much more than that," said Gina sharply. "Besides, there's the brooch."

"Poof!Topaz and brown diamonds.Give you thirty bob."

"Thirty shillings!" she cried with horror, and thecolour flamed in her face. "Am I giving you me beadsand me brooch? Will I make you a present of me hat and me coat as well? Ah, come on, now. I onlywant me fare to Ireland, so that I can see me poor brother before he goes, God rest hissowl . Would yelet the poor boy die with no word of his little sister, who he's beencallin ' andcryin ' for this long weekpast, and me with me purse stole from me this day and not a friend in the world to go to?"

She stopped for breath, and the shabby little pawnbroker, peering open-mouthed at her over hisspectacles, slowly made out a ticket and paid ten dirty pound notes over the counter without anotherword.

"Thanks," said Gina, and dived out of the shop.

She caught the boat-train toHolyhead , and, realizing suddenly that sheh'ad eaten nothing most of theday, bought a sausage-roll and an apple on the platform.

It was cold on the boat, and she went below and curled thankfully in a bunk, rolling herself tightly intoher blanket. It was fairly rough, 'and had she not been so exhausted with her day's adventuring, shewould certainly have been very ill. As it was she slept solidly, if uneasily until the stewardess woke her.She went up on deck, her clothes creased and crumpled from the night, for she had slept in everythingbut her cap and shoes. A thick grey mist completely hid the houses ofDunleary , and she pulled her hatdown over her ears and shivered. The boat pulled into the pier, the gangways slid across with a rattle,



and Irish voices argued musically on all sides.

Gina's spirits began to soar. This was Ireland. This was her own land again, these were her own people.Why hadn't she realized that she was coming home? Or had that thought been at the back of her mind allthe time? She couldn't say. But here she was treading the dirt and litter of Irish cobbles once more, herewere Irish voices and Irish faces; England was behind her, she was home.

She stood so long on the quay, sniffing the familiar indescribable smells, that she nearly missed the slowlittle train into Dublin. She sat joyously bolt upright on the hard wooden seat of the second-classcompartment, and watched for each familiar landmark. In Dublin she drank a large cup of coffee at thebuffet,then boarded a tram which would take her within walking distance of theDoyles ' house, where sheand Sebastian had stayed a night on their way home last Easter.

At last the end of the journey. Gina knocked excitedly on theDoyles ' front door, which was opened byFred himself.

"Holy mother, if it isn't Miss Gina!" he exclaimed.

"Is Sebastian here?" asked Gina quickly, almost glad to see the young man's freckled face again.

"Faith, he is not!" was the unexpected answer. "That villain has no responsibility on him. He spent onenight with us, and went off with a play-acting lot to travel."

"What!" cried Gina, almost ready tocry. The glory went out of the day, and she would have wept onDoyle's shoulder without the slightest distaste, had he not pulled her into their little dining-room, wherethe family was still at breakfast, and sat her down hastily beside his mother.

"Wait now, before youstartbawlin '," he said hurriedly. "Mother, you remember Miss Gina Gale? Hereshe'stravelled all night from England to find her brother, and he only laving us yesterday, and isn't it thegreat shame? Give her sometay now an' she'll be 'alright in a minute."

They fussed over her, delighted to welcome her among them, and she was made to eat a huge breakfastand drink three cups of almost black tea. While she ate, Doyle told her all he knew about Sebastian,who, on the boat, had apparently struck up an acquaintance with the manager of a small company of Irishplayers who made a living by performing in the little-known country villages. He had offered to take onSebastian, who, wildly attracted by the proposal, had thrown up all idea of working on his music incombination with Doyle, and had gone off with the company yesterday. In each event, Gina had beenone day too late.

"What'll I do now?" she said despondently.

"You'll catch him atBallyskillen if you go today,They're playing there tonight," Doyle said consolingly."It's only a couple of hours' journey. I think you were right, Miss Gina. He might as soon be at hisbuks asover here. He'll give his mind to nothing."

She came toBallyskillen in time to be for ever captivated by its wild charm. The sun was just about toslip behind the blue quiet hills, and in its rosy light the village lay touched with fire. The white walls of thecabins glowed withcolour , and beyond, the pools of peaty water at the foot of the hills were aflame likelittle jewels.

Gina, walking in a dim enchantmentdown the village street, met Sebastian coming up, a yellow muffler



round his neck, and magic in his eyes.

"It's so beautiful," said Gina, as though she had met him half 'an hour ago, and he replied: "You must seeit from over here," and taking her hand, ran with her down the street, into the squelching boggy turf, andup a steep little rise in the ground.

They stood side by side in silence, watching the changing light, until the sun sank altogether behind thehills, leaving a sad veil over the land, a little wind ruffled the coarse strong grass at their feet, and Ginashivered.

"Let's go back," Sebastian said, flinging an arm across her shoulders."Howmarvellous to see you here,Ginny. Just the one person Iwas wanting to complete the fun. I knew you wouldn't be able to stick itwithout me. What great times we're going to have."

"But, Sebastian, I haven't run away. I've come to fetch you back," Gina faltered.

He threw his head back and gave a great shout of laughter. "Take me back!" he cried derisively."FromIreland—from this new gorgeous life?Never!"

"You must come. I promised—I've come all this way to fetch you—you can't let Mark down like this."

But even the mention of Mark couldn't make him cross. "Don't bother to argue, darling, it'll make nodifference. Tomorrow you won't want to leave yourself. We can't ever go back now," he laughed, andthere was a queer unreal air about the whole adventure that made it already seem impossible to return.There was no arguing with Sebastian here. There was indeed a feeling of enchantment creeping over herown will which made her reluctant to discuss the thing at all.

He took her to the little tin hall where a rehearsal wasIn progress, and introduced her to the company,who, in the fashion of their kind, accepted her promptly as one of themselves, and took it for granted shewould stop with them.

"There are always small parts you can fill," the manager told her kindly. "We will be glad to have you."

She sat in the body of the hall watching the rehearsal, and presently it was Sebastian's cue, and he wentup on to the shaky platform which did duty for a stage, and left her alone. Quietly she slipped out into thestreet, and found the post-office. This was all going to be very much more difficult than she hadanticipated, not less so because she longed above all else to throw in her lot with these people and befree of England and her other life. After all, wouldn't that solve the problem of their existence as far asMark was concerned?

She sent a wire to Julie, saying where they were, and asking for more money, since at present it was notpossible for either of them to return home, Gina's supply being almost exhausted. It was not until shesigned her name that she realized this was the first intimation Julie would have received as to what hadhappened to her since she had left the Barn House yesterday morning. Was it only yesterday morning? Italready seemed a lifetime ago, and Gina had a swift vision of the anxious twenty-four hours Julie musthave passed through, waiting for news. She 'added "Don't worry all well" to the message, and pushed itacross the counter. The company were playing inBailyskillen for another three days, so if Julie wired themoney, she reflected, they could return the day they all packed up for the next village.

She was suddenly very tired, and her head began to ache, and, snatching off her hat with a great reliefthat herjourneyings were at last over, she went back to the rehearsal.



II

It was the last day of the company's stay inBallyskillen . Tonight they would give their last performance,and to-morrow they would pack up and move on. Everyone experienced regret, and there was not oneof them who would not have gladly stayed another week, so enchanting was the place, so kindly thepeople.

Gina, perched on the wall outside the tin hall, was sit-ting in herfavourite attitude—arms hugging herchest, chin thrust forward, and her forehead creased in a frown. She sat, staring out to the hills, which laydark in shadow before the sunset touched them. It was the same hour in the afternoon when she hadarrived inBallyskillen , and there was going to be the same flaming sky.

Gina sat and thought, kicking idly at the stones. No money had come from Julie, only a curt wire fromMark which said: "Stay where you are until you hear again." Well, that was ridiculous, she reflected witha certain, amount of satisfaction. You couldn't stay where you were and support yourself without money,and so there was only one thing to be done. They must move on with the company.

Gina, looking up the village street, casually observed a man come out of the post-office andwalktowards her. She stared at him for several moments, automatically noticing that his hat never came out ofIreland. The fact that he was limping slightly made her think of Mark, and, once he was in her mind, sherealized with a faint sense of shock that this same man was, in fact, he.

She never moved, and before he recognized her she had time to see how very tired he looked. Tiredand rather sad, as he limped towards her, and she felt her throat contract sharply. He saw her then, andstood quite still, observing her. She seemed subtly to have changed, though in what way he didn't know.She looked at home, part of her surroundings, and when she spoke, even her voice was different.

"Hullo, Mark," she said with the soft intonation of her country.

"Hallo, Gina," was all he could think of to reply, and at that moment Sebastian came out of the hall,where a last rehearsal was in progress, and seeing Mark, said with every expression of alarm and disgust:

"Teacher!By all that's damnable!"The atmosphere changed abruptly, and Mark turned on Sebastianwith all the evidence of his old manner.

"You young fool! Do you think you can behave like this whenever you feel inclined?" he said sharply."Now you've had us all chasing after you, perhaps you'll consent to come home."

"We are home," said Sebastian insolently, and Gina saw a faint hint of pain in the older man's eyes.

"I'm sorry you can't look upon the Barn House as your home," he said quietly. "But I'm afraid for thepresent that can't make any difference. Has it never struck you,Sebastian, that you're both under age, and



can be compelled by law to live where you're told?"

It clearly never had struck him, and Sebastian glared furiously at Mark for a moment, searching for aflow of words which would effectually sweep this statement aside, but all he could find to say was, "Whatdo I care?"

"Probably nothing.That's of no consequence," said Mark indifferently. "It also doesn't seem to strike youthat you might have landed your sister in difficulties."

"Ginny? What's she got to do with it?"

"She went after you, didn't she?Chased all over the countryside with very little money. Anything mighthave happened," Mark warmed to his theme. "There might have been an accident, or she might havebeen abducted. Anything—we'd never have known."

"Ginny abducted? I'd like to see anyone try," said Sebastian derisively. "Anyway, why don't you pitchinto her about it? She was the fool who never let you know where she was going. We can both look afterourselves very nicely, thank you, Mark."

"That being so, will you please be ready to start back with me this evening?" Mark replied coldly. "Weshall have to spend the night in Dublin as it is."

"You're crazy," laughed Sebastian uneasily. "We can't go tonight, we're both playing. Tomorrow theymoveon, and we with them."

"You think so?" Mark said very politely, and the boy fidgeted.

"Well, ask Gina. She came to fetch me home like a bad little boy, but I don't think you'll find she's sokeen to leave," he said, and darted back into the hall, muttering that his entrance was due.

Mark stood, looking after him, then slowly turned and saw the sun just beginning to dip behind the hills.

"Lord! What a sunset!" he exclaimed involuntarily, and Gina slipped off the wall.

"Come and see it from over here," she said, as Sebastian had first said to her, and taking him by thehand she walked with him into the tough brown grass.

III

He stood beside her on the little hill, looking away over the glittering pools of bog-water. She still heldhis hand, and he looked at her small averted profile, trying to determine from her face what her moodwas. Her lips had that hint of bitterness about them which of late, with him, they had ceased to show.They were pale like her face, but her hair, blowing gently in the wind, was turned by the glowing light into



a fiery halo about her head.

"Gina—" She turned her face slowly, but didn't look at him. "Will you hate to come away so much?"

She looked down at his fingers, which she was slowly opening and shutting as they lay in her hand.Gently they closed round hers. "Gina—you'll come?"

They neither of them realized that he was pleading with-her for something which to all intents andpurposes she had shown no intention of refusing him, even if she had the power.

"Yes," she said then, with a little sigh, and after a bit added regretfully, "But it does seem a waste, whenno one particularly wants us. We don't like being a duty to anyone."

He smiled slightly,then was grave. "I want you, Gina," he said with such sincere simplicity that shelooked up quickly. He was watching her anxiously, his eyes a little afraid, and she tightened her grip onhis fingers.

"Do you really, Mark? You want me 'as a person?" she cried eagerly, and didn't altogether understandthe expression which flashed across his quiet face.

"Yes. As a person—as yourself, Gina," he said gravely, and she gave herself a little shake.

"Of course we'll come," she said. "There wasn't really any question of being able to refuse.But not tilltomorrow, Mark. You must watch the show tonight, and tomorrow we'll go back. We couldn't let thesepeople down, you see. They've been so awfully good to us."

Early the next morning, Mark stood between the two young Gales at the little station and saw thecompany off. They hung out of every window, shouting farewells and blessings and wavinghandkerchiefs. Sebastian jumped up and down, waving and yelling violently, while Gina, who hadembraced everyone many times over, hung on to Mark's arm, and gazed despondently after thedwindling train, her face wet with tears.

"They were darlings," she said. "And now it's all over, and I don't suppose we'll ever see them again."

"And all my future is examinations!" added Sebastian with point.

Mark slipped an arm through each of theirs and piloted them out of the station. "You make me feel verylike the Wicked Old Uncle," he said, with a laugh at their miserable faces. "Come and get somebreakfast. We shall be starting ourselves in another hour."

Sebastian went into the house to put together his few belongings. Gina had none to collect.

"Do you like Ireland, Mark?" she asked him.

He was silent for a moment,then he said thoughtfully, "It's very beautiful—like a lovely dissatisfiedwoman."

"Oh," said Gina uncertainly, then swiftly leaving the subject, she said a little apologetically, "Mark—I'msorry if Julie worried. It was stupid of me not to let her know where I was."

"Did you never think that I might worry too?" he asked.



"Did you?" she countered with slight surprise.

"I was sick with anxiety till your wire came," he told her quietly, and it was the nearest he ever came toreproaching her for her thoughtlessness.

She gave him one swift glance, wondering just what he really thought about the whole affair,then shesmiled her sudden smile of great sweetness, and said simply:

"I'm glad to be going back with you, Mark. Thank you for coming."

CHAPTER VIII

THE young Gales stood at the window of Mark's study, watching the leaden sky. At three o'clock in theafternoon it was already nearly dark, and the wind was rising.

"It'll come any minute now," Sebastian said comfort-ably.

"Whatfun! A white Christmas!" said Gina.

"It'll put an end to hunting," said Sebastian, and they hugged each other.

It was two days before Christmas, and Julie had been immersed in preparations for the past twenty-fourhours, for she was expecting guests,

"What are theCareys like?" anxiously asked Sebastian, who hated guests.

"Oh, you remember—quite nice," Gina replied. "He's in the Judge's line of business."

"Law?That means another stiff."

"How unfair!" she exclaimed. "Mark isn't a stiff."

"Stuffy then.He never does anything we do."

"He isn't stuffy either. And he can't do everything we do. He's lame."



"Oh, well, have it your own way. You like him now, don't you, Ginny?"

She thought for a moment. "Why now?" she hedged.

"Well, darling, really—'You know you were the one who used to kick and talk about being underobligations," Sebastian laughed.

"There'll always be that," she said quickly. "But as a person, he's rather extra special, don't you think? Ido admire him terribly."

"Dear love us! Why?"

"Can't you see for yourself? He's so just, and reliable and kind."

"So are heaps of people."

"I don't think they are," she said slowly. "Just people aren't always kind. Besides, he's reasonable and, Ishould think, understanding."

"You only think he is, Ginny, because he likes you," Sebastian observed shrewdly. "It's perfectlyobvious that he's awfully fond of you.Which is more than he is of me. "

Gina laughed. "It's funny, but you and I seem to have changed places," she said. "You always used tobe telling me what a good sort Mark was; now I seem to be telling you."

"Well, it's only really the old story, isn't it?" he said with a good-natured shrug. "You can get more out ofMark, and I can get more out of Julie. It's the law of sex."

"I hate that spirit," she muttered savagely.

"What spirit?"

"Well—just out for what you can get."

Sebastian stared at her. "Good lord, Ginny! But what other way should we feel towards Mark andJulie?" He said it with such genuine amazement that his words lost some of their significance, and Ginaonly answered restlessly: "Oh, well, it's a rotten point of view. What do they get?"

"Why should they get anything? They're only doing their duty."

"It isn't Mark's duty."

"It is. Julie's his only sister. She hasn't any money and she's got us to support. Mark has plenty of moneyand no one to support. He did the obvious thing."

Gina clenched her hands suddenly and frowned. "But the point is—" she began in exasperated tones,then she saw her brother looking at her with a wide smile on his face, his green eyes tilted in 'amusement.

"Georgina, you're almost quarrelling with me!" he said, and she was silent. Sebastian would never see ither way. He was not made like that. She wished she was like him; it would have saved her a lot ofunhappiness.



She looked out of the window over the bleak, wintry garden. "It's beginning," she said.

They stood watching the first flakes of snow spinning this way and that in each gust of wind that scurriedround the house. Gina glanced behind her at thefirelit room, and thought how pleasant it looked with itsdeep chairs and Mark's books flanking the fireplace. A friendly, rather shabby, wholly masculine room,and infinitely preferable, in Gina's eyes, to the more modern drawing-room which Julie had done up upontheir arrival at the Barn House. She remembered with 'a warm glow of gratitude that memorable supperby the fire and Mark gracing the occasion with champagne.

Sebastian, following her backward gaze, thought only of the number of times he had been compelled tosit at that desk under Mark's kindly butunrelaxing tuition, and he heaved a sigh of thanksgiving that this atleast was behind him. He had taken his examination about a fortnight ago, and had come back ratherimpressed with Oxford, though he took care not to let anyone know it. Julie, once she had relieved herfeelings at his expense, upon their return from Ireland, had been charming to him. She was moreprepared to be annoyed with Gina for complicating matters by chasing after Sebastian without a word toanyone. It was, she said, just the kind of thoughtless, exasperating thing Gina would do, obliging Mark todrop his work and waste two days fetching them both back.

Gina replied that she had seen no need for Mark to come in person. She had only wired for the farehome, and if he liked to spend unnecessary money in going himself, that was his funeral. But privately shewondered why he had bothered, and came to the rather irritating conclusion that he must still treat themas children.

In a burst of resentment she had said to him last weekend, "You owe me atenner , Judge."

It was so unusual for her to demand money of him that he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, how's that?"

"I had to pawn something for my fare to Ireland."

"My dear child!Why didn't you tell me before?" he exclaimed. "I'd no idea—"

"How did you think I got the money? That it fell like manna from heaven?" she replied tartly.

He reddened like any boy. "I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid it never entered my head that you naturallywouldn't have any money. You know, Gina, you ought never to have rushed off like that without tellinganyone.

Anything might have gone wrong, and Sebastian might not even have been there. You must never—"

"All right, uncle!" she said, using herfavourite retort when he became elderly.

He couldn't resist a dig. "However did you bring yourself to ask me for hard cash?"

But she didn't rise. "You owed it to me. It isn't a gift." she said calmly. "I pawned my possessions inyour interests, therefore you pay."

He smiled a little grimly,then asked her for the pawn ticket, and. told her he would get her things backfor her.



It was snowing hard when they all arrived at tea-time. While Julie brought her guests to a blazing fire,Mark caught Gina for a moment in the hall, and tossed her a small packet.

"Here are your valuables, you naughty child. How dared you go and pawn my handsome gift as soon asyou got it?" he said, teasing her.

"It was the only thing of any Value I possessed," she returned lightly. "I always wear it. Thank you,Mark. Sorry I had to rook you."

"You like your beads, then?"

She nodded. "You know I do."

He watched her untie the little parcel, and take the necklace from its case. "Here, let me," he said, asshe fumbled with the clasp, and he went and stood behind her.

He snapped the clasp together, and dropped both hands to her thin shoulders, holding her so that shewas unable to get away from him. Instantly her whole body stiffened, and she began to fight him.

"No, no! Let me go!" she said with panic in her voice, and he released her at once. She wheeled roundto face him, and he saw that her eyes were frightened.

"Why—Gina!" he said gently, andcolour flamed into her pale face.

"I—I'm sorry," she said in embarrassed tones, and went quickly into the drawing-room.

He stood where he Was for a moment, looking after her, and wondered thoughtfully what man hadcaused that violent reaction in the child, for the instinctive alarmed little struggle told its own tale.

He followed her into the drawing-room, where Julie was already dispensing tea before a leaping fire.She Was at her best, gracious and relaxed, for she was fond ofPhilippa Carey, a charming, vaguecreature, whose air of distraction covered 'a very shrewd intelligence. She was about Julie's age, and herhusband shared chambers with Mark.

"We're dragging you to all the local festivities," Julie was saying. "On New Year's Eve there's a dance atthePratts to which we've been bidden with a party. Then there's the Charity Ball atEastcliff on the fourth.If it freezes hard enough, they hope to have a skating party atClevelands on Boxing Night."

After tea there was a general move to disperse. Julie tookPhilippa up to her room, and the two menretired to Mark's study. Sebastian went to the piano to work at a syncopated carol he had been inspiredto do by the prevailing Christmas spirit, 'and Gina stood listening to him in the cold hall, while she pulledback one of the curtains at the long window, and stared out at the ghostly spinning flakes in the darkness.

"I wish the Swann wasn't coming," she said once.

"He's a nuisance—" a bit of the Dead March crept into the carol, "—we needn't bother about himthough."

"You needn't," said Gina, too low for Sebastian to hear; then with a little wriggle she pulled the curtainacross the window again, and swung herself on to the top of the piano, where she issued directions and



suggestions on the music for the next hour, until, both of them too cold to play there any longer, they wentback to the drawing-room, wherePhilippa Carey was roasting shovelfuls of chestnuts in the fire.

II

It was still snowing the next day, and the country was dazzling with a brilliant snow-light, the huge flakesslowly whirling now, dark against the sky. It stopped altogether after lunch, and Gina tookDogsbody fora walk, to escape Victor, who, arriving late last night, had not as yet had time to catch her alone.

Presently Gina met Evan exercising his bull-terrier, and he greeted her uproariously, pelting her withsnow and chasing her, until she fell laughing into a small drift.

"What 'a gorgeouscolour you've got! It completely changes you," he cried as he pulled her out. Hedragged her closer, and she thought he was going to kiss her again, quickly, dispassionately, as he hadupon that summer's day in the cornfield. But his face, so near her own that she could see the tiny goldhairs on his upper lip, which he hadn't managed to shave entirely clean,coloured faintly, and, his blue eyessuddenly serious, he let her go rather abruptly.

"Come back to tea, and I'll run yon home in the car afterwards," he said, turning and walking besideher.

He brought her back after tea and came in for a drink.

"A beau!" saidPhilippa rapturously when he had gone."And so beautiful! I don't blame you, Gina, forfalling." "But has she fallen?" teased her husband.

"Have you fallen?" askedPhilippa .

Gina looked across at Mark and smiled, but found he didn't return it. "Perhaps," she said lightly.

"Well, if she hasn't fallen for him, he has for her, that's quite evident,"Philippa said decidedly. "And X forone don't blame him."

"Nor I," said Carey gallantly.

"Nor I," said Mark, and smiled then.

Gina, rather overwhelmed by such wholesale flattery, laughed a little uncertainly 'and ran out of theroom.

"She's rather delicious, your little dependent," saidPhilippa . "I don't believe she knows she's attractive."

"Don't for heaven's sake ever let her hear you call her that," said Mark quickly. "Gina's terribly sensitive



about that side of our relationship."

"You're very fond of her, aren't you, Mark?" she said after a little pause.

He was silent for a moment before he answered softly, "Yes, I'm very fond of her."

Victor and Julie came in from 'a last-minute's shopping expedition to the village, and Julie held out herfrozen hands to the blaze.

"It's cold as charity," she said, shivering a little in her fur coat. She looked upset, and glancing at Victor'ssulky face, Mark guessed they had been quarrelling. For the hundredth time he wondered what it wasthat she saw in the man, and, looking again at Swann, supposed there was something in his rather flashy,animal good looks which might appeal to a woman of Julie's type.

It was so cold that Julie had the seldom-used big fireplace in the hall filled with blazing logs, and in theevening they rolled back the rugs and danced.

After dancing twice with Elliot Carey and Sebastian, Gina couldn't refuse Victor without drawingattention to the fact, and she revolved mechanically in his arms with a stony little face, which was notunnoticed by Mark.

"Still angry with me, after all this time?"Swann asked softly above her head.

She made no reply.

"Sulky too?Dear, dear, this is serious!"

Still she didn't speak.

"Don't you think, my dear," he continued with a change of tone, "that you're carrying it too far? SupposeI admit that I behaved badly? Well, shall I say I'm sorry? Now will you thaw a little?"

She was at a loss how to deal with him. "I don't think yourapologising can ever make us friends," shesaid a little uncertainly, and he suppressed a smile.

"I'm not asking for your friendship," hefold her. "After all, I'm a man of a certain age, and you're just agirl."

"You should have thought of that before," she retorted, not in the least crushed.

He gave a short laugh. "Well, don't you think that your attitude is a little provincial?"

"I am provincial," she replied.

He was nonplussed. She was too quick and tooclearsighted , this child. "Other things apart," he saidsuavely, "if you continue to keep up this game, you will only succeed in making us both conspicuous. Youdon't want to draw attention to the position. I presume."

"That's true," she admitted,

"You were foolish enough running to Julie like any silly little schoolgirl that night, without having to let the



whole house know as well," he said, pressing home his advantage. "I told you before, Julie and Iunderstand one another. She was the wrong person for you to have gone to, my dear."

"Would you rather I'd gone to Mark?" she flashed.

He looked disturbed,then smiled slowly. "I know you wouldn't care to do that. Men don't appreciatetales of that kind. It makes it rather awkward for them. Besides, how do you know you weren'tmistaken?"

She was silent, biting her lip miserably. She missed a step and stumbled.

"Steady!" he said, and tightened his grip, then continued reassuringly, "Let's forget 'all about it. Youknow you're in a false position over the whole affair. Besides, I'm sure you don't want to make thingsdifficult for Julie."

"No."

"Well then, let's call a truce. Yoube nice to me, and I'll be nice to you."

"Nice?"

"You must use the word as you mean it. But I think we understand each other now. You'll stop being afoolish little girl with me?"

"If you leave me alone," Gina said uncertainly, as the record stopped and their dance came to an end,but he only gave her his flashing smile, and went off to help Julie choose another record.

Gina went and sat down beside Mark by the fire. "Do you never dance at all?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I'm really not able to, you know."

"But people who are only slightly lame very often can," she persisted.

"I find it makes me too tired, and in the end gives me 'a certain amount of pain, so it's scarcely worthwhile," he told her.

"But you're coming to thePratts ' dance, aren't you?"

"I don't think so."

"Nor the charity ball?"

He shook his head. "I've taken a ticket; that's all they want."

"Oh, how mean!" cried Gina indignantly. "I think it's perfectly absurd the way you keep out ofeverything 'and let yourself get elderly and avuncular just because you have amouldy leg."

"Do you think I'm elderly and avuncular?"

"Of course I don't. But you try hard enough to make me," she said impatiently.



"I must mend my ways then. How shall I start?"

"Well, why don't you come to the Hospital Ball as you've got a ticket? Hang it all, Mark, you send us alland pay for everything, and don't have any of the fun."

"But what would be the fun of going to a ball when you can't dance?" he protested weakly.

"Don't you like sitting out? I think it's half the fun," she said frankly.

"Would you sit out with me if I came?" he asked her.

"Of course I would," she said. "I'd sit out every dance with you if it gave you any pleasure. Only you'dbe so horribly bored."

"Oh, Gina, you charming child!" he said with a smile. "All right, I'll come if you really want me to."

III

The fun was in full swing atClevelands when Julie's party arrived on Boxing Night. The big frozen lakewas already crowded, and the air rang with voices and laughter and the sound of skates cutting ice.Lanterns hung from the branches of trees like glowing fruit, and some of the skaters carried torches. Aband fromEastcliff had been engaged to play, and they struck up a waltz as Gina excitedly put on herskates.

"Doesn't it look thrilling?" she cried to Mark, standing beside her, the collar of his overcoat turned up tohis ears and a muffler round his neck. It was bitterly cold. "I've never been to such a grand ice-party.Quick, Evan, hurry up with your skates."

"Come on, then, I'm ready," Evan answered, and helped her on to the ice. "Can you waltz?"

"I used to be able to. Let me find my feet first."

It was soon evident to both men that she was an excellent performer, and Mark stood and watched herthin pliant body twisting and turning with ease, assuming a natural grace which was lacking in skaters withprettier figures than Gina,

"It'smarvellous ! Come on, Evan, I'm all right!" she cried, and held out her hands.

Mark watched the scene with a sudden unwonted sense of bitterness. It was hard to be out of things atthirty-five, and he reflected that Gina had been quite right when she had accused him of becomingavuncular, but it seemed to him inevitable that this should be so, since he had now acquired and waspractically supporting a complete family, and it meant hard,unrelaxed work to keep them all. While Juliemight conceivably marry Victor Swann or any other man in the near future, Sebastian and Gina would be



unsolved problems for several years to come. He refused at the moment to consider the prospect of Ginaherself marrying, although Julie had always made it plain enough that this was the only possible solutionfor her, and he had an idea that when the time came, his sister would not be over scrupulous in choosinga husband for the girl. Sebastian of course was a genuine responsibility. He showed so little promise ofever making a way for himself. He was far too dependent on other people and other people's money toever shift forhimself , but Gina—

He became aware of her at that moment standing at Nancy's cocktail bar. She was balancing herselfawkwardly on her skates, and Evan had thrown one arm around her in support. Their young glowingfaces were alive with a mutual enjoyment, as much of each other's company as of the carnival itself. Theywere happy, and so obviously at ease with each other that Mark wondered with a certain dismay if Julie'splans showed signs of coming to a head sooner than she had hoped.

He walked away in search ofPhilippa , who, exhausted by her tumbles, was drinking steaming coffeeover one of the braziers.

"This sort of thing may be all right for the very young," she said, making room beside her for Mark, "butonce you've reached my age, tumbles hurt."

He was silent, and glancing 'at him, she thought he looked weary and rather sad. He was only the sameage asherself , but tonight he looked infinitely older.

"Don't mind me, my dear," she said quickly. "I was only joking."

"No. You're quite right," he said then. He patted his lame leg. "Gina was going for me only the other daybecause I kept out of.things . She said I was becoming avuncular. That stamps one, doesn't it?"

"Ah, Gina."Philippanodded thoughtfully, then added shrewdly, "You never thought much about it untilthat little girl grew up, did you?"

"No, perhaps I didn't."

"And yet Gina strikes me as being less of her generation than most. I mean she wouldn't really mind ifshe never went to dances, or frivoled about in a youthful way. She deals much more in personalities thanin good times. She gives me the impression that she is far more in need of steady affection than parties,and I don't think she's ever had very much."

He looked at her quickly. "That's what I've always rather felt myself," he agreed. "She's capable, I think,of giving a lot, and she doesn't get very much."

"Julie doesn't care for her, does she?"

He shrugged his shoulders."Unfortunately, no. She's much fonder of Sebastian."

"I suppose that's natural. Julie is entirely a man's woman really. She's possessive, you know."

"Yes, I know. Things are rather difficult for the child."

"She'll probably marry, and that will solve all your troubles," she said lightly, but watching him withinterest.



"That's all women seem to think of!" he said so violently that she smiled. "It's Julie's only plan for the girl,and has even sunk into Gina's mind as well. She told me a little while ago that she must marry as quicklyas possible to take herself off my hands. It's a monstrous attitude! Now the boy is a problem. He has nostability and no definite purpose in life at all except living at other people's expense."

"Oh, Mark!" saidPhilippa over her coffee-cup, and laughed softly.

On the ice they were playing follow-my-leader, headed by Victor, who had proceeded to organize thisparty as he had so often organized winter-sports parties in Switzerland. That was his strong suit and, asfar as it went, was successful. He was unflagging in his efforts to keep things going, and he was generousin taking round the indifferent performers if they happened to be young, female and charming.

Follow-my-leader over, they began playing fox-and-geese, with Victor as "fox." This proved a greatsuccess. There were many screams as a "gosling" was caught and detached from the long string, and acertain amount of tumbles.

Now Gina was the tail, and quite suddenly the thing, for her, ceased to be a game. She was onlyconscious of being pursued by Victor, and at all costs she must avoid being caught. She began to beafraid, and she clutched Sebastian's coat desperately, hanging on to him with grim determination as theyswung suddenly out this way and that, trying to elude the "fox." She felt as she so often had out hunting.She was sick with fear of falling, sick with fear of being caught. In anticipation she felt Victor's musculararms imprisoning her, carrying her off to unknown horrors, and suddenly she was aware of him bearingdown on her. She screamed, let go of Sebastian's coat, and turned to escape.

She heard Victor's voice, shouting, "Hey! That's not fair! You mustn't separate!" as he started to pursueher, and in her panic she crossed her skates. The bobbing lanterns spun before her eyes like myriads ofburning oranges, and the ice rose shimmering to meet her as she felt her feet shoot from under her, andfell backwards.

CHAPTER IX

I



IT was Victor who carried her across the ice.

Mark ceased suddenly in his conversation withPhilippa to say, "Hullo! Someone's got hurt. I thoughtthat game was getting a bit rough."

They went over to the spot where a knot of people had gathered, and Mark saw who it was. Victorhad laid Gina's small body on the snow, and was now kneeling beside her, chafing her hands. Someonebrought some water, and he began to force it between her teeth.

Mark pushed his way through the crowd and knelt clown beside her. "What happened?" he askedanxiously.

"I don't know." Victor looked puzzled. "She broke away at the last minute and got her skates crossedor something. Can't think why she did it. She must have fallen on the back of her head. She'll be all rightin a minute." He gave her a little more water, and she began to come round.

The first person she saw was Victor bending over her, and Mark watched a look of pure fright comeinto her eyes.

"Oh! I was caught!" she said.

He slipped an arm under her shoulders, drawing her away from Swann. "It was only a game, Gina," hesaid gently. "You just fell down on your head. Do you feel better?"

She sat up, supported by Mark, and felt the back of her head gingerly.

"Ow!" she exclaimed.

Sebastian appeared with a cup of coffee, and she drank it, looking apologetically over the rim of thecup.

"I'm awfully sorry," she said. "Do go on skating. I'm quite all right."

People began to talk in relieved voices, and presently they dispersed and the band struck up a waltz.

"All right.Gina?" asked Julie behind her.

"Yes.thanks . Do go away, all of you." She was beginning to feel she wanted to cry.

Mark nodded to Victor, who took Julie on to the ice. TheCareys went back to the coffee-stall, andGina was left with Mark and Sebastian.

"This young lady seems always in trouble," said a fresh voice, and Gina looked up and smiled feebly atSir Charles Napier. "I think you had better come up to the house and rest." he said kindly.

"I think it would really be best if I get her home and to bed," Mark said with a smile.

"Perhaps it would on the whole." Sir Charles agreed, and whispered to Gina, as she was helped to herfeet, "I'll send you over some fruit tomorrow to make up."



"What an old pet he is," Gina said, and she began to walk towards their car, supported on each side byMark and Sebastian.

"I wonder if you ought to sec a doctor," Mark said, tucking a rug round her in the car.

"Oh no.It's only a crack on the head," said Gina, and burst into tears.

"Oh. Gina! As bad as all that?" Mark asked, and sat down beside her. He took off her beret, andstroked her hair soothingly. "I wonder if I ought to take her along to a doctor?" he said to Sebastian.

"Don't you worry," Sebastian replied comfortably, settling himself in the back of the car. "It's a goodsign when Ginny cries. She's relieving her feelings. Something frightened her, I think. She'll stop in aminute."

She had begun to stop already, and accepted Mark's proffered handkerchief gratefully. "Sorry," shesaid. "I'm all right now, really, Mark. Let's get home."

He looked at her tear-stained face a little curiously.

"Would you like Julie to come with us—orPhilippa ?" he asked her, still a little doubtful.

"No, I'd much rather have you and Sebastian," she said, and snuggled down beside him.

He smiled, reassured, and backing the car out of its line, started for home.

II

Gina lay in bed, staring at her little tree. Mark had given it to her for Christmas, and it stood by itself onthe mantelpiece, spreading its fragile branches, a lovely delicate trifle of fine blown glass.

It was five o'clock of the next afternoon, and Julie had just left her. Julie had been unusually gracious,for theNapiers had both called informally to inquire for Gina, and relations betweenClevelands and theBarn House were at last established. Gina lay staring at Mark's tree, and thinking over her stepmother'swords.

Julie, sitting gracefully on the side of the bed, had glanced round the room, her shrewd gaze taking inGina's small collection of offerings. There was Sir Charles' basket of hot-house peaches and grapes,which she had herself just broughtupstairs, and a great bunch of chrysanthemums from Evan out of hismother's greenhouse, their bronze mop-heads very like Gina's own. Less pleasing perhaps was the sightof an unopened box of chocolates from Victor, and last of all a small case of crystallized fruit, especiallyprocured, Julie knew, that morning by Mark, who had motored intoEastcliff for the purpose.



"What a lot of fuss for a little bump on the head," she said with a smile. "Beginning to be spoilt by menalready, aren't you, Gina?"

"I know—it is absurd. I'm quite all right really," Gina said apologetically. She knew that Julie would notbe pleased that Mark and Victor had paid her any attention.

Julie's regard rested last of all and longest on her brother's gift, and finally came back to Evan's flowers.

"You like this young man, don't you?" she said, picking up his card and holding it delicately between herwhite fingers.

"Who?Evan? Yes, I like him very much," Gina replied, and feltherself blushing as her stepmother's darkeyes rested suddenly on her face.

"He's been running after you a lot of late," Julie went on deliberately. "I used to think he was fond of thelittle Pratt girl, but—you were always friends, weren't you?"

Gina nodded, feeling puzzled.

"He's a charming young man, and when the old people are gone, of course he will be very comfortablyoff, and own that nice old house as well. I'm glad you like him so much, Gina." Julie paused suggestively,and Gina said bluntly:

"Do you want me to marry Evan, Julie?"

Julie spread out her hands in a little deprecatory gesture. "My dear—has he asked you?" she said withfaint reproof.

"No."

"Well, then, there's no need to discuss such an indefinite proposition, is there? But, Gina, rememberthis—" Julie glanced swiftly at her stepdaughter—"Mark can't keep you for ever, and you will be twentyin a couple of months."

She- rose unhurriedly, dropped Evan's card into Gina's lap, and with a pleasant smile crossed the roomto the door. "You're getting up in time for dinner, aren't you, dear? Take things easily and don't hurry.You must be well for thePratts ' dance."

So Gina lay and considered, and of the whole conversation only one sentence stood outclearly—"Mark can't keep you for ever. . . ."

No hint could have beenmore plain , and she felt her cheeks grow hot as she imagined Mark and Julietalking her over between them, speculating upon the chances of an early marriage for her, anxious for herfuture to be settled as soon as possible. She felt particularly resentful towards Mark, for he at least hadassumed a very different attitude, and she had already come to regard him as something of an ally and arefuge when life became too complicated. She couldn't help liking him in spite of her sense of obligationtowards him. He had always been so kind and never stressed her dependence on him more than he couldhelp.

Gina turned her pillow over and thumped it impatiently. A person who was so natural to cry uponcouldn't be an enemy, she reflected unhappily. There were so few people to whom you could reveal your



weaker self with impunity, that this fact alone must form a bond between them.

She glanced at Evan's card lying on the eiderdown where Julie had dropped it, and read again themessage scrawled above his name: "Take care of the poor head and make sure of being fit for NewYear's Eve—I'm having at least eight dances with you."

She smiled. Dear Evan! What a darling he was! She thought of his young golden beauty and lay verystill. If he should ask her, it shouldn't be difficult to be in love with Evan.If he should ask her. . . .

She came downstairs early, and found Sebastian at the piano.

"Hullo, Ginny!How do you feel?" he 'asked.

"Oh, not too bad.A bit tender in the skull," she answered, and swung herself into herfavourite positionon the piano."Everyone bright and happy down here?"

"Absolutely translucent,"grinned Sebastian, breaking into sugary arpeggios. "Julie's been walking on airever since theNapiers called. After all the fusses, she's got a Gale to thank for that! She and Victor havebeen looking like turtle-doves all day."

"I'd give a lot to know if they'll marry," Gina said slowly. "I don't think Julie ought to marry the Swann."

"Why not?"

"Oh—I don't think she can realize certain things about him."

"Well, that's her look-out. I should have thought he was fairly obvious."

"She can't know."

"Can't know what?"

"Oh—just certain things."

"What's the matter, Ginny? You look as though you've seen a ghost!" he said, and she gave herself alittle shake.

"Do I? Witch-like, I suppose," she said with a short laugh. "Sebastian, Julie thinks it's time I gotmarried."

"Married?You?" Sebastian gave a gnomish chuckle, and performed a flourish in the treble. "My poorGinny, you're not adult!"

"One can't go on being adolescent for ever," said Gina in a queer little voice. "I became adult quite threemonths ago. It isn't a bit pleasant, I assure you. I'm of a marriage-able age. I'm nearly twenty."

He stopped playing and stared at her. "Well, supposing you are—who is there to marry?" he demandedat last,

She shrugged."No one."



He thought for a moment. "You don't think you're in love with Evan Hunter, do you?" he saidincredulously.

"I don't think I'm in love with anyone," she replied frankly "But it's something at least to be attracted bythe man you marry."

"Then you are thinking of marrying him?"

"He hasn't asked me. But he's clearly Julie's choice."

"Rubbish!" Sebastian began to play Paupers' Parade fiercely. "Didn't I tell you before that you won'tattract very young men?"

"But I do attract Evan," said Gina meekly.

"For a moment, because he sees you looking clean and tidy suddenly, but that won't last. The Sprat'shis mark."

"Well, I've got to marry someone."

"Don't be in such a hurry. When I come down from Oxford, we'll set up house together, and be rid ofthe whole bunch of them. That's the best thing for you, darling."

III

The cold weather held. Every pond in the district was frozen hard, and skating parties took place everyday.

Gina, completely recovered, spent all her time on the ice with Evan and Sebastian as constantcompanions. It became Evan's principal aim in life to give Sebastian the slip, so that he might have Ginato himself, and he became quite clever at depositing her brother safely at one pond, while he quietlycarried her away to another. But Sebastian was not the only person he had to contend with. Ginabecame suddenly popular by reason of her skating excellence, and she was much in demand as a partner.

Then came the evening of thePratts ' dance.

ThePratts had certainly done things in style.

"It looks like a film star's wedding," murmuredPhilippa , as they mounted the stairs to shake hands withtheir host and hostess.

Therewere hot-house flowers banked high in every possible place, their strong, sickly scent alreadybecoming slightly overpowering. A first-class band was playing in the ballroom, and the crush of people



was terrific.

Nancy, standing beside her parents, looked as lovely as a face-cream advertisement. Her white fluffyfrock was new and expensive, and she eyed her feminine guests with pleasure as she recognized gownsworn upon other occasions. But Gina, coming up the stairs in a frock of tawny organza whichemphasized the rich tones of her hair, was a suddenly disturbing sight, since Evan was in closeattendance. Nancy experienced the unusual sensation that her own dress was obvious, that Gina's jadenecklace, shoes, and bag were clever touches, and that she should herself have worncoloured shoesinstead of white ones, which would get dirty after a few dances.

It was difficult to dance with any pleasure since the room was much too crowded, and after severalattempts Evan and Gina gave it up, and went in search of a quiet sitting-out place.

"Well, Gina?"

"Well, Evan?"

He laughed,then looked at her with such undisguised admiration that she smiled.

"You're wonderful in that frock," he told her. "It's new, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Julie gave it to me for the charity ball, but I wouldn't wait till then to wear it."

"You know, it's so queer to think that you like clothes as much as any other girl."

"Oh? Why?"

"I don't know." He laughed and looked a little sheepish. "I used to think of you as a tomboy, I'm afraid.You did grow up awfully suddenly, Gina."

She was silent a moment, then she said quietly, "I never had very nice things before. You can't befeminine when you're still treated like a schoolgirl."

"Poor little Ginny! But that's all over now, isn't it? Someone's spread themselves on clothes for you."

"That was Julie. She must have spent a lot of money. I don't frightfully like it, but still—I suppose I amher responsibility."

"A very sweet responsibility.I wish—"

"Evan—I haven't a penny to my name," she said quickly, and wondered why she had said it.

"I know." He looked across at her, his eyes gentian blue and suddenly serious. "You like me a little,don't you, Gina?"

"A very great deal."

"Then mayn't I—"

"Oh, Evan, don't let's be serious," she said suddenly. "Another time we'll sit and be very grave andthoughtful, but tonight—" She broke off and looked at him with eyes that were suddenly very bright.



He appeared a little puzzled. "But sometime, Gina dear, I want to talk to you seriously," he said.

She felt a small thrill of excitement at his words, and not altogether understanding her own impulse toput him off, said with a little laugh:

"As seriously as you like, Evan darling, but not now.All this"—she spread out her hands, indicating themass of flower decoration around them—"besides, it's Nancy's dance."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"I don't know, but you might. Come and let's find ices."

She jumped up and took him by the hand, pulling him to his feet.

"You'remarvellous ," he said inarticulately, and flinging one arm round her waist went with her towardsthe door, which opened at the same moment to admit Nancy and her partner, who happened to beVictor.

"Oh!" Nancy was taken off her guard. She forgot to pose, and her blue eyes filled with sudden tears asshe looked at Evan, his arm round Gina, both of them flushed and laughing.

"Hullo, Nancy!" said Gina a little awkwardly. "Your dance is lovely."

Nancy's little airs and graces came back to her with a rush, and she dimpled and tossed her curls.

"I'm so glad you're enjoying it, Gina dear," she said sweetly, then turned to Evan reproachfully. "Youhaven't asked me for a dance yet, Evan, and I'm your hostess," she said.

He flushed scarlet and fumbled guiltily for hisprogramme . "Didn't I? My dear, I'm sure I must have," hestammered, looking extremely uncomfortable. "I suppose—well, of course you're completely booked upnow. I'm terribly disappointed."

"I'm sure you must be. But if you really want to dance with me you can have this one. It's about all I'vegot left." She took his arm with a small proprietary gesture, and smiled at Victor. "I'm sorry, Mr. Swann.Perhaps Gina will sit out with you. She's rather good at it. Don't forget, Gina, everyone's to be in theballroom at twelve o'clock. There's a New Year surprise."

She left the room with Evan, and Victor stood grinning down at Gina.

"Shame, Gina! Snatching the poor little girl's young man," he said ponderously. "I should never havethought you had it in you. No wonder little Nancy doesn't love you."

"Shall we go back to the ballroom?" asked Gina stiffly.

"Where's your hurry?" he returned, planting himself in the doorway. "What's wrong with having a littlerest up here? It's hot downstairs with all those people and flowers and central heating."

"Very well."She sat down at once and stared in front of her.

"Oh, come! You might make yourself a little pleasant," he protested. "You looked unbending enough



with young Hunter when we came in. I bet you didn't mind a kiss or two from him."

"I'm not in the habit of kissing men at all," said Gina icily.

"I thought not.The sooner that state of affairs is remedied, the better, my dear. I'm not really repulsive,you know."

Before she had time to resist, he had pulled her to her feet and had kissed her swiftly on the lips.

"There! That wasn't so bad, was it?" he said with quite genuine concern.

She stood looking at him, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. "I think you're the mostloathesome individual I've ever had the misfortune to meet," she said in a clear, biting voice.

A curious expression passed across his florid face. "You look grand in a temper, Red-Head!" he said,quite un-disturbed, and she ran out of the room and left him.

As she went down the stairs, the heavy atmosphere rose to meet her in stupefying clouds. The scent ofthe flowers made her feel a little faint. She found Sebastian looking lost and ill at ease in his new tail-coat,and said urgently:

"Be a dear, and come back in the car with me, and then bring it back here. I'm dying to go home."

"Feeling queer?"

"A bit.It's this ghastly atmosphere and—" She had a sudden quite unaccountable impression of Markleft alone in the house, while they all enjoyed themselves at his expense.

"Right you are, Ginny! I'm bored to tears myself. I think it's a god-awful party, but then I never couldbear dances. Come on."

Sebastian, delighted, pushed his way through the crowd, and Gina managed to fetch her coat withoutbeing too conspicuous, and they escaped unobtrusively into the frosty night. It had begun to snow 'againsince they had first arrived, and the soft flakes stung their hot faces with an icy touch as they looked fortheir car. They extricated it from the others with some difficulty, then Gina took the wheel and they turnedtheir backs happily upon the Pratt mansion.

IV

Mark didn't hear the front door open and close. It was the sound of his own door-handle turning whichmade him look up from his book to see Gina standing on the threshold.

"Back already?" he exclaimed, glancing at his watch. "Why, it isn't eleven yet!"



She stood there looking at him with a curious expression on her face.

"Are you 'alone? Where are the others?"

"Yes, I'm alone. Do you mind? Sebastian took the car back," she said slowly. She came into the room,shutting the door quietly behind her, and went over to the fire. "Mayn't I have a party with you?" sheasked meekly.

"Of course, my dear.I'm delighted to have you. But weren't you enjoying yourself?" he said, looking 'alittle puzzled.

"Not very much.Besides, we'd left you here all alone."

"Was that your reason for returning?"

"Partly.No one should be alone on New Year's Night." She knelt down on the rug, and her amber skirtsbillowed delicately around her.

He stood watching her, trying to read her grave little profile. "That was perfectly charming of you," hesaid then. "But you're full of charming gestures towards me, Gina."

She smiled. "Not always." She turned round 'abruptly to face him, the corners of her mouth tilted insudden sweetness. "I am friends, Mark," she said, and waited a little expectantly.

"Bless you, you funny child!" he said affectionately, 'and pulled a chair up close to her. "I supposeyou've left shoals of disconsolate young men behind you."

"Not shoals," she said, and tossed him herprogramme .

He raised his eyebrows interrogatively as he looked at it. There were a few illegible initials at the end,but Evan's signature was scrawled right across the first half.

"Did you quarrel? Is that why you came home?" he asked, and there was a slight strain in his voicewhich she didn't notice.

She laughed, and shook her glowing head. "No. I told you one of the reasons. Well—? Aren't yougoing to ask me if I'm going to marry Evan? Everyone does."

"Meaning Julie?"

She nodded, and watched him a little anxiously.

"May I ask you if you love him?" Mark said diffidently.

Her green eyes narrowed with sudden mirth. "Oh, Mark, you are priceless!" she cried. "No one hasbothered up till now to inquire into that side of the affair, and if they did, I'm sure they wouldn't have yourfiner feelings."

Mark, wondering if he had been rather pompous, said seriously, "But no one has a right to pry, Ginadear. That sort of confidence should be given freely or not at all."



"How nice you are! Well, what do you want me to tell you? That I'm deliriously in love with Evan?"

"Are you?" he said, evading her question.

She thought a moment,then gave a slight shrug. "I don't know. No—not deliriously. But if—I don'tknow."

"Has he asked you to marry him?"

"No. But he wants to."

"And you want to accept him?"

"Well—I've got to marry somebody, and Evan is so heavenly to look at. That ought to be a great helpin marriage."

"No help at all," he replied shortly. "Now listen to me, Gina. Don't let yourself be rushed into marriagebecause Julie wishes it. She has wrong ideas altogether. Besides, you're both very young. Do you reallythink that young man would satisfy you for long?"

"Well, of course, that's the one doubt," she said seriously. "Sebastian always told me that I wouldn'tattract very young men, but I don't know—it's all very difficult. But Mark"—she turned a grave facetowards him—"I do appreciate that you can't support me for ever."

"Did Julie tell you that too?" There was a curious expression in his grey eyes.

"She needn't really have bothered," Gina said a little ruefully. "I have plenty of perception really."

"Far too much," he exclaimed, and there was an edge to his voice. "Gina—" he leant forward, studyingher upturned face "—can't you ever forget this wretched association of money between us? I understandyour sensitiveness about it, and although I think you have avery exaggerated idea of the situation, I likethat in you. But I often wish you had more of Sebastian's casual spirit towards money."

"Perhaps that's why I'm like this," she said in a low voice.

"Well, my dear, will you please listen to me very seriously when I ask you never to do anything soincredibly foolhardy as to marry any man for the sake of relieving me of what you choose to call aburden. Pay no 'attention to Julie. She doesn't always act for the best. Do you understand?"

She nodded."Um. But I do like Evan, anyhow."

He leant back in his chair again. "That's another matter, of course," he said a little wearily. "But if you'rereally serious, you must wait until he has finished with Cambridge. His time's nearly up there now, and hemust get started properly in his profession before he can think of marrying."

She sat back on her heels in the circle of firelight, and looked at him tenderly.

"You're a dear, Judge," she said slowly. "And to think there was a time when I didn't like you!"

"So you admit it now!"



"Yes. But I didn't know you then. I think you're a frightfully big person." She bent forward with a swiftsudden movement, and taking one of his hands, brought it impulsively to her lips. She felt him tremble,then stiffen, and she drew back a little ashamed. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry!" His arm instinctively went round her shoulders, and he pressed her to him gently. "I told youbefore, Gina, you are full of charming gestures towards me."

He just touched the top of her head with his lips, and, 'as on that first and only occasion, she flung herarms round his neck like a child, and kissed him back. But this time, no sooner had she done it than shesprang to her feet, and wave upon wave of brilliantcolour flooded her face. She thought she would neverstop blushing, and Mark, after watching a little curiously, had to laugh.

To tide over her embarrassment, he suggested that they should have a supper-party by the fire to see inthe New Year together.

"Like last time—with champagne?" she cried with pleasure.

"With champagne, you little tippler!" he said, and they went out to the kitchen quarters to rummage forfood.

All the servants were out, and they made havoc with Sweeny's neat pantry, trying to find plates andglasses. Gina laid a small table in the study, while Mark went down to the cellar to fetch the wine.

Mark uncorked the champagne with a flourish, and they sat down to their supper. Gina had lightedcandles in old Georgian candlesticks, 'and had even found the remains of the Christmas crackers withwhich to make the table gay. At twelve o'clock they toasted each other and drank to the coming year,while the village bells suddenly pealed out in the snowy night.

"All good things to you, Gina!"Mark said, raising his glass.

"And to you," she replied. "I hope you get your dearest wish."

She thought he looked at her a little oddly over the rim of his glass.

"My dearest wish is so bound up with you that it may not be wise for me to get it," he said crypticallywhen he had drunk the toast.

"If it's anything I can give you, Mark" she began eagerly.

"Perhaps one day," he said with a smile, and held a cracker out to her.

By one o'clock, Gina, curled up on the floor by Mark's chair, had dropped to sleep, her head againsthis knee. He knew he ought to wake her and send her up to bed, but the pleasure of having her near himwas too great. He sat watching the firelight play on the tumbled hair which half hid her sleeping face, andwondered about the future.

Julie, coming in a little later, stood in the doorway and took in the scene with a slow deliberate gaze.She saw the pushed-back table, with its still burning candles, and the litter of soiled plates and gaily-colouredcracker papers; Gina, abruptly awakened, and struggling into a less intimate position; and Julie'smouth curved in a smile that was not amused.



"Quite a little party," she said with a drawl, and came into the room."PolRoger, too.Evidently anoccasion."

"Wouldn't you call the New Year an occasion?" asked Mark pleasantly, rising to his feet.

"Don't you think it was a little odd to go off as you did, Gina dear?" she said softly, ignoring Mark andfixing her dark eyes on her stepdaughter. "Evan was looking for you everywhere, and it was rather rudeto thePratts ."

"They wouldn't notice," mumbled Gina uncomfortably.

Julie lifted one shoulder delicately. "If you were tired, my dear, you should have gone straight to bed.You shouldn't have kept Mark up like this. But I'm sure you never thought about it, did you?"

She became aware of her brother's steady gaze, and turned to the others, who had come in with her."We needn't have bothered," she said. "Gina could evidently take good care of herself."

"What a perfectly lovely idea!" saidPhilippagaily. "Was it yours, Mark? Of course they had to see theNew Year in the proper style. Incidentally, a happy New Year to you both," she smiled at Mark andGina, who returned her greeting with relief.

Gina was conscious of Victor's steady gaze, and presently he said with a slow smile:

"You little dark horse, Gina!I always suspected it."

No one, fortunately, asked him what he meant, and Gina pretended not to hear. Sebastian, who wasalready eating up the remains of a trifle, said indignantly:

"If you'd told me you and the Judge were going to fling a party, I wouldn't have gone back to thatmonkey-house. Of all silly pastimes, dancing takes the prize! It was agodawful show!"

"Gina, run along to bed now," Julie said. "Mark, you look tired. You ought to have gone to bed longago. Victor, will you get yourself and Elliot a whisky and soda?—Phil—some lemonade? No? Well then,I think bed for us all."

Having deftly dealt with her entire household, Julie gave a last glance round Mark's ratherdebauched-looking study, and, with suddenly compressed lips, led the way out of the room.

CHAPTER X



I

DURING the next few days, Julie kept careful watch of all Gina's actions. She had been much disturbedby what she had witnessed on New Year's Night. She had always known that Mark was more thanordinarily interested in the girl, although she had never let herself think how deep his interest might reallygo. She wanted to get Gina married, but not to Mark. She was fond of her brother, and her possessiveinstinct reached out to him as it had to Gina's father. The child had unconsciously stood between Denisand herself. She would never consciously stand between herself and Mark. In Victor's case she stilldetermined to be blind. It was necessary to saveher own pride.

She would never show Victor that she was jealous of her own stepdaughter, and, so long as no one elseknew it cither, she cared little what Gina might suffer.

Julie encouraged Evan to come to the house as often as he liked. She never made the mistake of askingGina how the affair was progressing, but she gave Evan every opportunity, knowing well that Gina wouldnot appeal to all men.

Gina allowed herself to be monopolized by Evan, chiefly to escape the renewed attentions of Swann,who, since New Year's Night, had frankly returned to the attack. He pestered her whenever Mark wasout of sight, and made her life unbearable in countless little subtle ways. There was a great deal that wassadistic in Victor, and where his own interest was aroused without reciprocation, his attentions had a veinof cruelty in them. He was both irritated and attracted by Gina's fear of him. He was finding Julie's guestsas boring as they found him, and he considered Gina a little devil who knew more than she pretended,who was quite ready to accommodate Mark when she wouldn't accommodate him. Victor was alwaysinsensitive. It was the cause of half his vulgarity.

On January the 4th, the date of the charity ball, the thaw started.

"It would, of course," said .Sebastian, coming in at tea-time from giving the Southern Belle roadexercise. "The roads will be like glass tonight. We shall have a jolly drive toEastcliff ."

"And you won't be at the wheel," said Mark, who was just leaving the room. "You and Gina are theworst drivers I know."

"All right, we don't mind," said Sebastian good-temperedly, and flunghimself into a chair with the latestdetective story.

Philippawandered in and out, collecting her belongings. She and her husband were leaving tomorrow;Victor was going in two days time.

"I wish you weren't going," said Gina despondently. She foundPhilippa's presence in the house a distinct



relief.

"So doI , my sweet. But we can't stop for ever, unfortunately," she replied. "How many dances are yougiving your beau tonight, Gina?"

"D'youmean Evan?" said Gina with a smile. "I said I'd tell him when I got there."

"How wise.I believe you have technique after all."

"What's that?"

"Don't you know? Well, never mind. Perhaps you haven't."

"Where did Elliot propose to you?" asked Gina interestedly.

Philippapaused in her wanderings and clasped a work-basket to her bosom with an ecstatic gesture."On an is-land in the middle of Piccadilly. He had a cold in his head," she said fondly.

"Oh no,Philippa !"Gina looked disappointed. "I thought 'at least a conservatory and music off."

"Darling, you have such old-fashioned ideas. Even in my young days—"

"Well, I've only had one proposal in my life. I don't know how it's done," said Gina conversationally.

"And you're expecting another tonight—in the conservatory—with music off? What a heavenly blush,Gina. You are old-fashioned!"Philippa exclaimed. "Are you going to accept him? Do tell me—just me."

"I probably won't be given a chance," Gina replied.

They went off in two cars, watched gleefully from the front door by Sebastian, who had flatly refused toface another dance. The roads were very bad, and Mark in the leading car drove carefully. Presently,tired of a steady pace, Victor's Bentley roared past, and the rear light was soon seen fast disappearing onahead.

"I wish he wouldn't play the fool when the roads are like this," Mark said irritably. "He ought toremember he's got Julie with him."

Gina danced principally with Evan, who was one of theirparty , andPhilippa , who sat out a good dealwith Mark, watched them with interest.

"Are Gina and young Hunter going to make a match of it?" Elliot Carey asked once, and Mark saidquickly:

"Why should you think so?"

"Well, I should have thought it was pretty obvious. He's been hanging round most devotedly all the timewe've been here, and she looks as if she likes him all right."

"I think it would be a very suitable match," Julie said composedly. "Of course Evan would have to waituntil he came down from Cambridge, but that won't be long now."



"Are you serious, Julie?" asked Mark.

"But, Mark, you always knew I hoped they would marry," said Julie gently. "Evan will have moneyeventually, and the Hunters are very nice people. Gina isn't everybody's choice, you know."

"I think she's damned attractive," said Carey frankly. "That Pratt girl can't hold a candle to her, in spiteof her looks."

"Attractive? Gina?" exclaimed Julie with real surprise. "Yes, perhaps she is in a queer sort of way. But Irepeat,she isn't everybody's choice."

Mark said nothing, andPhilippa remarked thoughtfully, "I think perhaps it's a pity to push her on toanyone 'as young as Evan Hunter. Gina strikes me as a girl who'd be happier with someone rather older."

Julie glanced at her sharply. "How absurd you are, Phil," she said quickly. "You'll say she's a girl whoneeds understanding next."

"Yes, I think she does," saidPhilippa quietly, and Mark got up with an abrupt impatient gesture andwalked away to the bar.

"Julie, you're rather foolish, my dear,"Philippa said softly.

"What do you mean?"

"You're afraid of Mark marrying Gina, aren't you?"

"Phil!" Julie prepared to bluster, then gave in with a shrug. "Yes, I suppose I am," she said. "Mark's atthe age when he ought to marry. For so many years he couldn't afford to, and when he could he didn'twant to. I may not always keep house for him. He ought to marry, but not Gina. What happiness wouldhe find there?"

"My dear, whatright have you to presume he wouldn't be happy with Gina?"Philippa asked. "I think theywould both be happy, which is better than only Mark being happy, don't you think? It's foolish to let yourown dislike blind you to everything else."

"It isn't pure dislike," Julie returned. "But it wouldn't besuitable, Phil. Mark is years older thanGina—he's a different generation. She couldn't satisfy him."

"You don't look very far, Julie, or you'd have seen that Gina is much nearer Mark's generation than herown."

Julie flashedher a troubled look. "I wonder if that's true," she said almost under her breath, then addeddefiantly, "Anyway, there's Evan to contend with."

"Perhaps," saidPhilippa , smiling a little cryptically. "But you make a great mistake in taking the attitudeyou do with Mark. There's such a thing as putting ideas into a person's head, you know." She watchedJulie a little mischievously out of the tail of her eye, and was amused to see her bite her lips hard. PoorJulie, she thought compassionately. She was so much her own enemy.



II

Gina had danced eight consecutive dances with Evan, without being aware that she had cut two she hadpromised to sit out with Mark.

She was, for the moment, blissfully happy with Evan, only aware that their steps matched perfectly, theirdancing was not marred by trivial conversation, and his young face so near her own was handsomer thanever. She knew that later he would take her somewhere quiet to sit out, and then of course he wouldpropose, as he so nearly had on New Year's Eve. She was unconsciously whipping herself into a state ofexpectation, and when at last he said quietly, "Shall we go and sit down now?" she felt suddenlydeliriously nervous.

They found a quiet corner away from the ballroom, and looking down the corridor, Gina spied a smallconservatory.

"Oh!" She gave a little gasp,then seized Evan's hand. "Will you—do you mind if we go in there?" sheasked.

"It'll be a bit hot, won't it? But just as you like," he returned, and they went inside and sat down on twohard little chairs among some dusty ferns. They could just hear the hand playing in the distance, andsuddenly felt very shy and alone.

"Are you enjoying it?" asked Evan.

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes.Too many people."

"Not up here."

"No, but we'll have to go back. Gina—I wish I could have you quite alone all to myself. I hate othermen looking at you."

"Darling Evan, why?"

"You know why."

"Do I?"

"Of course you do. Gina—I wanted to tell you on New Year's Eve, but you wouldn't let me, and thenyou ran away because I had to go off and dance with Nancy."

Gina burst into a peal of laughter."Oh, Evan! Did you really think that was why I went home?"

"Well, wasn't it?" he asked simply.



"No—of course not.How silly you are!" she said, and knew instantly it was the wrong answer.

"Oh! I thought you had minded that."

"Should I have?" she inquired, and realized that he was young enough to have wanted her to be jealousof Nancy. "I'm sorry, Evan, but that really wasn't the reason."

"Oh!" he said again, and seemed at a loss how to proceed.

"You know I shall he quite decently off—I mean, when

theold birds go " he burst out suddenly. "Well, you

know, Gina, I have prospects and all that."

"Evan, why don't you say it straight out?" she said affectionately, and looked at him, her green eyesaslant.

He gave a little self-conscious laugh and said, "If you know what Twant , can't you help me out?"

"You're so frightfully modern about it." She sighed and looked round at the ferns.

"Oh, well, it's so difficult—Gina—oh, darling, you're so lovely, I can't really think of anything else," hecried suddenly. "I love you, Gina. I love you terribly. Darling—"

He pulled her to her feet, and dragged her into his arms with a rough, boyish gesture. She yielded to himwithout a struggle and felt his warm young lips pressed hard to hers.

Long before he released her she knew she could never love him, and she was conscious of a flood ofbitter disappointment. Automatically she returned his kiss, and, as she did so, she remembered with avivid sense of shock the kiss she had given to Mark on New Year's Eve.

"Darling . . . you do love me . . . my dear . . . my dearest . . ." Evan was murmuring above her head,and she pushed him away. "Gina, you're shy!" he exclaimed. His eyes were very blue in his flushed face,and he began to straighten his tie a little nervously "Do I have to inter-view Mrs. Gale or Proctor? Mrs.Gale, I suppose—Darling, we won't be able to be married for some time. Shall you mind?"

"Evan—listen."

She felt herself begin to shake. This washorrible ! How did one manage to get to an emotional pitch ofthis kind when all the time it could lead to nothing?

"This is all a mistake. You mustn't go on."

"A mistake?What on earth do you mean, darling?" He sounded incredulous, almost amused.

"Evan—I don't love you—not enough to marry you," she said bravely.

He looked bewildered, then horrified. "Do you mean to tell me that you never meant a thing all thistime?" he cried. "That you led me on just for the fun of seeing me make a fool of myself?"



"No, no. I was serious all the time—until this very moment I think I wanted to marry you. But can't youunderstand how difficult it is to know when one is just running round together?" she pleaded.

"No," he returned harshly. "I can't. I knew—all the time."

"But you were sure. That's the whole thing. I was never sure, and I wanted to find out.If—if you'dkissed me before, Evan, I would have known."

"Is that all you wanted?The usual kissing and messing about? I thought you were different."

"Please—you must try and believe that I'm loathing all this. I hate to let you down. 1. like you terribly,but that isn't enough for marriage. I thought quite honestly that. ICould easily fall in love with you, but Iknow now I couldn't. Surely it's much better to say so?"

"If you could only have known before—"

In the midst of her distress, Gina almost smiled. He was so young. His pride was hurt, almost more thanhis heart.

"I'm too old for you, really," she said involuntarily, but he only stared at her stupidly.

"Listen, Evan," she said gently. "I've every reason but one for marrying you. Julie wishes it and wouldhave made things easy for us. I badly want to relieve Mark of my keep, so I was willing enough, and Ilike you enormously. It would have been quite easy to have accepted you and let you think I loved you,but it wouldn't have been honest. I like you too much to make use of you. Wouldn't you really ratherhaveit this way?"

He was silent, looking away from her, wretched and embarrassed. "I don't know—I don't know," hesaid miserably.

"You were attracted to me much too suddenly," she went on earnestly. "It was only because I'd grownup, and looked more presentable. Me—the real me was always there, but you didn't find it till I hadsome pretty clothes. So you see, I don't think I would necessarily always attract you. Later on you wouldprefer people like Nancy Pratt—"

"Leave Nancy alone," he said with a violence that startled her. "She's a very nice girl."

"Very," said Gina, feeling a little dazed.

"You always had a down on her. I suppose you were jealous, till I turned her down for you."

"Did you turn her down for me?"

"Well, not exactly, but if you hadn't cropped up when you did—"

Gina giggled nervously. "It sounds like a weed or something," she said. "I'm awfully sorry, Evan. I seemto have been a bit of an error all round." She had a terrible feeling that she was going to burst outlaughing, and her one desire was to get out of the stuffy conservatory, and away from Evan.

"Nancy's very fond of you," she said irrelevantly. "Evan, I'm terribly sorry about all this. Please forgive



me for—for leading you on. I didn't mean it to be just that. I—I think I'll go now.G-good-bye."

She left him abruptly and fled down the corridor, and into the ladies' cloak-room, where she laughedout loud, long and hysterically.

"So much for my beautiful conservatory proposal!" she gasped to her reflection in the mirror, "An islandin Piccadilly would have been far better!"

III

Gina went back to her own party. This was going to be rather awkward, since Evan was one of theirnumber , but at present he was nowhere to be seen. Julie was dancing with Victor, and as Gina sat downbeside Mark, theCareys moved away together.

"What have you done with young Hunter?" Mark asked a little shortly.

"Oh, he's somewhere about," said Gina uncomfortably. Mark was looking rather severe, and she feltunaccountably shy of him.

They watched the dancing in silence for a little while,then Mark said:

"Julie and theCareys want to go early. You'll be all right with Evan and Swann, only don't let him scorchon those roads."

Gina turned a dismayed face to him. "Me to go back with the Swann and Evan?" she exclaimed. "Oh,Mark, I couldn't. I'll come with you."

"I'm afraid there won't be room. We shall be six as it is, and we're taking back theNeills . Why? Haveyou quarreled with Evan?"

"Not exactly."She looked unhappy, but he wasn't going to give her any help. "Must you go early? Aren'tyou enjoying it?"

He glanced at her a little curiously. "Not particularly. But if you remember, I never much wanted tocome. I think it was you who persuaded me." There was some-thing in his voice that she didn't quiteunderstand, and he said with a smile, "You told me that you considered sit-ting-out to be half the fun.Anyway, you seem to enjoy it."

The blood rushed to her cheeks, and she dived for herprogramme . "Our dances!" she exclaimed."Have I cutRem ?"

"Only four," he said dryly.



"Oh!"

She was terribly distressed. Mark had come tonight principally because she had asked him to. Sheremembered him saying: "Will you sit out with me if I do?" And her quick reply: "I'd sit out every dancewith you if it would give you pleasure."

"I'm terribly sorry! I forgot all about it, truly I did."

"Obviously!"

"I mean, I didn't cut them on purpose. I just forgot."

"You were very much otherwise engaged, weren't you, Gina?" he said kindly, but the words stung her,sore as she already was. "Never mind, my dear. When you're out of things as much as I have to be, youbecome resigned to being passed over in the end."

She discovered for the first time that he could hurt her. She sat beside him miserably silent, longing toburst into tears. He made no further effort to help her out, and they sat speechless until someone cameand asked her for a dance.

It was nearly one o'clock when Mark came to find her to say they were going.

"Swann's quite ready to go himself," he told her, "so you won't be long after us. I can't find Evan, butwill you tell him?"

Neither could Gina find Evan, andfinally she ran into Victor, who said casually:

"Hunter went about half an hour ago. ThePratts gave him a lift."

"Then there's just you andme left?"

"Just the two of us.We'll have a nice little run home all on our own," he said pleasantly.

Gina felt wretched. Everything had gone wrong tonight, and she didn't look forward to a long drive withVictor as sole companion.

"When do you want to start?" she asked.

"Oh, there's no hurry. Come and have a dance first. I've hardly seen you all the evening. So taken upwith that handsome young fellow, weren't you? And what, might one ask, is he doing going home with thelovely Miss Pratt and leaving his poor little partner to the tender mercies of the ogre?"

"Oh, don't be sillier than you can help," said Gina wearily, and prepared to dance with him.

When the music stopped, he said they might think about going.

"You run along and get your things, and wait for me in the lounge. I'm going to have a quick one beforewe go."

"The bar will be closed. It's after hours," Gina said. He had already had as much as was good for him.



"Don't you worry, mydear. Bye-bye—see you later."

She had been sitting in the draughty lounge for nearly half an hour when he finally appeared, not toosteady on his legs, and his arm through that of a strange man.

"This is old Bingo Banks," he said expansively. "We knew each other in the old days. Fancy meetinghim here! We had some times together, didn'twe , Bingo, old man?"

"Good times, old boy," said Mr. Banks solemnly.

"Swannyis one of the bestMiss— Miss—yes, well as I was saying, old boy—"

They stood talking aimlessly about old days, and slapping each other on the back. It eventuallyappeared that they were to give Mr. Banks a lift on the way. He was staying at a small hotel betweenEastcliff andWestham Street, and had got separated from the rest of his party. They all three packed intothe front seats of the Bentley, Gina squeezed between the two men.

The roads were slippery, and Victor, driving with his usual dashing carelessness, had many skids whichsent Gina's heart into her month. Finally she became resigned.if they were going to be killed, they wouldbe, and, any-

way, it was a fitting end to the evening.

They arrived without mishap at Mr. Banks' hotel, and invited them in.

"Just another little drink to cheer you on your way.Got plenty upstairs," he said persuasively.

"I don't think—" began Gina, but Victor cut her short.

"Oh, come on, Gina. We won't be long. I could do with something."

Gina got out of the car with resignation, and followed the two men in.

The place was in darkness, and when Mr. Banks fumbled for the lights, she saw that it was a smallcountry hotel of the sporting type. Everything was very plain and ugly, and the walls were hung with themasks and brushes of foxes, and stuffed fish in glass cases.

Gina sat down on one of the red plush chairs. "I'll wait for you here," she said.

"Oh no, that wouldn't do at all," said Mr. Banks in scandalized accents. "Supposing anyone came down,and found you sitting all alone in the hall at half-past one! That would never do, old boy—Miss Gale, Imean."

Through past experience with her father, Gina had long ago learnt that it was easier to agree with aslightly drunk man than to argue, so she got up again, and followed them up the dark stairs.

Mr. Banks had a small private sitting-room with a bed-room openingoff, and here again everything wasvery plain and ugly.

"Sorry there's no fire—bit late you know," he apologized. All his glasses appeared to be dirty and stoodin a sordid collection on the sideboard with various empty bottles. But he eventually unearthed some



tumblers and a bottle of whisky, and they sat down on more red plush chairs.

Victor was just beginning to enjoy himself. Gina's reluctance enchanted him. He could bait her as muchas he liked; she couldn't run away from him now.

"Enjoyingyourself , Gina?" he asked her.

"Not particularly," she said shortly.

"Oh! How's that?With two attentive admirers like Bingo and myself at your disposal. Perhaps you'rehankering after your defaulting young man?"

Gina said nothing.

"Sulky now!That was always your petdefence . Well, you mustn't be a sulky girl with me. I don't like it,and I might have to punish you for it."

For the first time she looked afraid. Victor saw it and settled down to his game.

"I'm rather fond of our little friend," he said to Mr. Banks and speaking with alcoholic solemnity. "Andshe should be fond of me, but for some reason she prefers my good host. Did you have a jolly party allalone with Proctor New Year's Eve, Gina? It was just about this hour too, and no one in the house butyourselves."

"Isn't it time we started back?" said Gina quietly.

"Not so fast, my dear. You won't get out of it that way. I must say I felt very hurt that you shouldfavourProctor when you pretended to me that you couldn't be touched. However, that's all changed now, isn'tit? This is a good opportunity to make up our differences. Bingo, my dear chap, I know you would liketo be the means of bringing us together again." He winked at his friend, who ever ready to oblige,mistook the signal, and rising unsteadily to his feet said:

"Delighted, my dear old boy."He tucked the bottle of whisky under his arm, and left the room with aparting, "See you later!"

As Gina sprang to her feet, she heard the key turn in the lock. "What did he do that for?" she criedwildly.

Victor watched her curiously. "He was a little quick in anticipating my desires," he said. "It must be amisplaced sense ofhumour which made him lock the door. Now we shall have to stay here till he lets usout."

"Well, we'd better sit down quietly and wait till your imbecile friend chooses to come back," she said ascalmly as she could.

He placed both hands on the door jamb, barring her way. He probably had no very real intention ofhurting her, but he enjoyed frightening her.

"It seems a pity to waste our time sitting down quietly," he said slowly. "Don't you think we could put itto a better use?"



She backed away from him. "Victor, if you touch me—" she began desperately.

"Well? If I touched you, what would you do—alone with me in a strange hotel at half-past one in themorning?" he said conversationally.

She put both hands up to her 'aching head. "Oh, God, what am I to do?" she said.

"I'll tell you, shall I? Just be a little bit nice to poor old Victor, and then we'll all be friends," he said, andmoved towards her.

IV

Sebastian was still up, finishingPhilippa's thriller, when Mark and the others got home. Julie was tiredand went straight up to bed withPhilippa , while Mark and Carey had drinks before they finally turned in.Mark, however, eventually decided to sit up a little longer. He was beginning to worry about Victor'sdriving on the bad roads and blaming himself for not insisting that they all came home together.

It was nearly half-past one, and Mark sat down to wait. "I hope they're all right," he said several times,and at ten minutes to two he got up with finality and announced that he was going back to meet them.

With a sigh, Sebastian tore himself from his book. "I think you're batty, Judge. They may have stoppedon till the end, or anything. What's the point of sweating all that way back?" he said, but Mark wasadamant.

"Swann said he was coming at once. I know he didn't want to stay—neither did Gina. I don't trust hisdriving on this sort of night," he said, and went out to fetch his coat and gloves.

"Well, if you must go, I'm coming too," Sebastian said, getting to his feet and stretching. "All right, don'targue, Teacher, I might be useful, and anyhow you'll have some-one to talk to."

Mark got out the car again, and having gone upstairs to warn Julie where he was going, he started backalong theEastcliff road.

"They might easily be stranded if they'd had a smash," he said. "There's not much traffic about at thishour."

"The Swann's much more likely to be engaging poor Ginny in a flirtation than lying in pieces in thehedge," Sebastian remarked.

"Why do you say that?" asked Mark sharply. "Oh, well, you must have noticed, Mark. The Swann'salways pestering Ginny. I suppose it's generally when you aren't around, though."

"Has Gina been seriously worried by that man?"



Sebastian shrugged. "Oh, she's quite capable of coping," he said cheerfully. "She doesn't tell me much.She's afraid I'll sock him one."

Mark drove on in silence for a little way,then he said suddenly, "I've been an awful fool."

"Why?"

"I ought to have known."

"But, Judge, you don't think—"

"I don't know what to think," said Mark brusquely.

"Well, you know, I always thought there was something very fishy about that week-end the Swann washere, and Ginny had that awful dust-up with Julie," Sebastian said.

"What was that row about?"

"I never knew. I thought perhaps she'd told you. But there was something fishy about that night beforeyou came back. I always thought so."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when I took Ginny's breakfast to her in the morning she'd barricadedherself in with a chair. Shelooked like death and said she hadn't slept a wink."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me this at the time?" said Mark grimly.

"Oh, well—I didn't know anything. There seemed to be enough trouble already, and I thought perhapsGinny might have told you, anyway," said Sebastian apologetically.

They drove now in complete silence, and suddenly Mark pulled up abruptly and pointed to a carstanding in front of a small hotel.

"There's the Bentley," he said, and thought rapidly for a moment.

This was going to be rather awkward. He couldn't rouse the hotel 'and demand a list of its guests, but atthe same time he didn't believe that Gina would have willingly accompanied Swann to a lonely hotel atthis hour of the night. Besides, where was Evan?

At that moment a light appeared in one of the downstairs rooms, and Mark got out, and went andtapped on the window. Presently it was pushed up, and a man's face appeared, flushed andsurprised-looking.

"Hullo, old boy! What do you want?" he asked affably. He was clearly rather drunk.

"Is there anybody else in there with you?" demanded Mark.

"Oh, no—I'm quite alone—in fact I'm very lonely, old boy, if the truth were known," said Mr. Bankspathetically.



"You don't happen to know where the occupants of this Bentley are,then? "

"That Bentley?Why of course, old boy. It brought me home." Mr. Banks began to laugh. "Very goodjoke that. They're upstairs, and whatd'youthink ? I locked them in."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but do you mean all three of them?" said Mark impatiently.

"Three? There were only two, old boy, I swear there were only two.Swanny and little Miss—Miss—"

"Gale?"

"Gale! That's the name!Haughty little girl—not my style.D'youknow her?"

"Now listen to me," said Mark slowly and impressively. "Miss Gale is a member of my household, and Iam responsible for her. I'm.incidentally a lawyer, and if there's any trouble, you're for it. Will you kindlycome and let me in without any fuss and noise, and explain as clearly as you can what has happened?"

Mr. Banks, suddenly perceiving the dawn of a most unpleasant scandal, disappeared rapidly from thewindow, and in a few moments had unlocked the front door. Sebastian, who had been listening with hiseyes nearly leaving his head, prepared to follow Mark in, but he was told curtly to wait outside.

"Now," said Mark.

Mr. Banks explained, as well as he was 'able, protesting many times that he had no idea who Gina was.He had taken her for one of Swann's many attachments.

"All right.Now keep quiet, and give me the key. This thing has got to be dealt with without a scandal.Which room is it?"

"First on the left at the top of the stairs," said Mr. Banks, and sat down miserably to wait.

Mark took the key and, feeling slightly sick, went quietly up the stairs.

When he first unlocked the door, he thought the room was empty,then he saw Victor sitting sulkily in acorner.

"Where's Gina?" he asked.

Victor nodded towards the bedroom. "She's in there. Won't come out," he said automatically,thensuddenly realizing who Mark was, he got to his feet unsteadily, and went rather white.

The bedroom door was flung open, and Gina stood on the threshold. Her hair was wild, and she hadevidently been weeping violently. She stared at Mark in dismay. She clearly had not expected to see him,and her hands went up to her mouth. She was unable to speak one word, but just stood and stared athim tragically.

"Gina," he said gently, and went across to her, and, putting his arm around her, led her to the door. "Godownstairs quietly and wait for me in the car. You'll find Sebastian there."

When she had gone, Mark turned to Victor. "If it wasn't for Gina I'd have you in court for this," he said,



controlling himself with an effort. "How far did you go with her, Swann?" There was a deadly quietness inhis voice.

"Oh, good lord, man, I haven't hurt her," said Victor uneasily. "A couple of kisseswas all I got or evenmeant to get from her. She's—she's been crying in the bedroom all this time, thanks to that fool Bingo'slil' joke."

Mark looked at him steadily. He was at that stage of drunkenness in which he might easily begin to cryhimself.

"I presume your friend can put you up for the rest of the night?" he said. "I'll have your things sent overtomorrow. We shall not, of course, see you at the Barn House again." He turned to go.

"Hey! Are you giving me notice to quit?" demanded Swann truculently. "Because let me tell you thatJulie will have something to say to that."

"My sister's affairs are entirely her own concern," said Mark stonily. "But the house happens to belongto me." He shut the door quietly behind him, and went down the silent stairs and out into the raw night air.

CHAPTER XI

I

GINA was sitting in the back of the car crying bitterly. Sebastian, who was beside her, and trying hisbest to comfort, got out when he saw Mark, and made a gesture ofdespair .

"I can't make head or tail of anything," he said. "But Ginny seems chiefly upset because you found her.Did you pitch into her or something?"

"Hop in front and drive, Sebastian," said Mark quickly. "And for heaven's sake go carefully on theseroads. I must talk to Gina."



He got in beside her, and Sebastian joyfully took the wheel. Mark waited until they were well on theirway, then he began to speak.

"It's all over, Gina," he said soothingly. "Don't worry any more. I blame myself entirely. I was a perfectfool not to see how the land lay."

"I wish it hadn't been you ... I wish it hadn't been you . . ." she sobbed.

"You wish what hadn't been me?"

"I wish you hadn't found me—like that."

He put one hand on her knee."Listen, you poor child. I'm glad it was me," he said gently. "I'm only sosorry you never confided in me before. Gina—that time you were so upset after a row with Julie—hadSwann tried to get into your bedroom?" She was silent. "My dear, you can't possibly mind telling menow."

"Would you believe me?"

"Gina—!"

"Julie didn't. Or she said she didn't."

"Was that what it was?"

"I told her—I told her I was frightened. I wanted to change my room. She wouldn't let me. She said I'dasked for all I got." She began to cry again at the memory of that scene with Julie, and Mark's hand onher knee tightened.

"You should have come to me, not to Julie," was all he said. "Another time, when anything at all worriesyou, come and tell me. Will you promise?"

She nodded.

"Has Swann always pestered you?"

"More or less.I didn't want to make trouble for Julie. I avoided him as much as I could."

"And what happened to Evan tonight?"

"He went home earlier with thePratts ."

"Why was that? He was one of ourparty ."

"I expect he didn't want to see me again."

"So you hadquarrelled ?"

"Well, he asked me to marry him, and I refused him."



There was a long silence,then Gina said rather miserably, "I suppose Julie will be annoyed, won't she?"

"Now listen, Gina. You're not to worry about anything Julie may say to you," said Mark in an oddvoice. "I shall have to tell her about tonight, of course, because I naturally won't have Swann inside thehouse again. But no one else need know. And about Evan—well, you know I at least never wanted youto marry him. I want you to try and forget this whole beastly business. Will you?"

She didn't immediately answer,then she said in anxious tones, "Mark, you didn't really think I cut yourdances on purpose, did you?"

"Oh, Gina!"He put an arm round her. "I believe you're far more worried about me than yourself! No, Ididn't really think you cut my dances on purpose. Anyway, you couldn't very well help a proposal, couldyou?"

"No. I'm afraid Evan's frightfully angry with me." She sighed, and resting her weary head on Mark'sshoulder, went suddenly to sleep.

II

Julie stood drumming her fingers on the window-pane of Mark's study. Her back was towards herbrother, and he couldn't see, as yet, what effect his story had had upon her.

"So you see, I had no option but to forbid him the house altogether," he finished. "You quite understand,Julie?"

"Quite," she replied, and still did not look round.

"And, Julie—I must say that your attitude over the whole business of Swann'sbehaviour has made Ginasuffer unnecessarily. Why couldn't you have helped her, instead of making it impossible for her to confidein anyone? You could easily have dealt with Swann and kept him in order."

"I told you before, Mark, young girls are often very foolish and imagine a great deal that isn't true. Ithink that was so in Gina's case."

"You know you don't believe that."

She turned and faced him at last, and he saw that her face was rather pinched and her eyes very bright.

"Anything unpleasant that came Gina's way, she asked for," she said with cold deliberation.

"You said a moment ago that she imagined everything," he returned quietly. "No, Julie, that won't washwith me. It would be more honest if you admitted that for a reason which the poor child can't help, youdislike her so much that you won't lift a finger to help her."



A queer little spasm passed over her face. "Oh, I admit it," she said in a lifeless voice. "Where's the useof pretending? One's whole life is pretence in one form or another."

"Julie, I cannot understand you!" he cried. "If I even knew what it is you want—but you defeat me onevery count."

She smiled then. "Poor Mark! We've 'all been a terrible worry to you, haven't we? Well, you'll be rid ofme soon, at least. I'm going to marry Victor."

He stared at her silently, then he said in a rather shocked voice, "For God's sake, why?" "Why doesanyone marry?"

"But you can't seriously tell me you're in love with the man—knowing what he is."

"What he is doesn't much matter to me," she said. "We understand each other. I was in love with Denis,Mark, so that scarcely comes into the thing. Victor has always attracted me very strongly, if you musthave a purely physical reason."

"Marriage isn't purely physical," said Mark roughly. "No. So Denis frequently told me. But in thatrespect, as in most others, we were very poorly matched," she said very quietly. "Victor is much nearermy own way of thinking, although I loved Denis.—Youforce these things out of me, Mark. It's ratherhumiliating."

"My dear, I don't want to force anything from you. I'm only trying to understand your point of view," hesaid gently. "And I think I do in a dim sort of way. I'm terribly sorry for you, Julie."

"Thanks. Please don't be," she replied bitterly, "And your mind's quite made up?"

"Quite. This affair with Gina has only brought things to a head."

"Nothing I can say or do "

"—can make any difference. You can't stop me, Mark."

"Your 'affairs are your own concern, my dear. You're not a child," he said quietly. "But I imagine youdon't propose that Gina should live with you when you're married."

"Gina?My dear Mark—!" She looked at him amazed.

"Exactly.I didn't suppose you would want her," he said a little dryly. "But what do you suggest shouldbecome of her? You're responsible for her, and she's under age."

"She will probably marry Evan Hunter."

He shook his head slowly. "She refused him last night."

Her eyes hardened. "Well, she can work, can't she?"

"What do you suppose she's fitted for?"



She shrugged. "Other girls have had to earn their living. She's quick enough."

"And what home will she have? She can't live with me, you know."

"You seem out to make difficulties, Mark. There are hostels—quite cheap places—where the girls arewell looked after. There would be no need for you to bother much with her."

"God, Julie, you're hard!" he said with 'a strange expression in his eyes. He had been watching herclosely as she gave her answers to his questions. "Well, you needn't worry about Gina's future. I'llarrange something for her."

A little flicker of fear came into her eyes for a moment and was gone.

"You're not thinking of marrying her yourself, are you?" she asked sharply.

"Why should you mind if I am?" he returned coldly.

"But are you serious?"

"Don't you think my affairs concern me just as much as yours concern you?"

She stood, struggling with her feelings in silence,then she burst out a little hysterically:

"You're a great fool, Mark! Both those two are out for what they can get, and always have been. Ginamay marry you willingly enough, but she doesn't care that for you!"

She saw the swift pain come into his face,then he said in a voice that was suddenly very tired:

"Let's not discuss it at all, Julie, if you don't mind."

She hesitated a moment, ashamed of having hurt him, then turned without speaking, and left the room.

III

Gina got out of bed at eleven o'clock and languidly began to dress. Sebastian had brought her breakfastup to her room and reported on the state of affairs downstairs.

"Julie's in Mark's studynow, and Sweeny's just gone off in the car with the Swann's luggage," he hadsaid. "What a glorious end to the Christmas festivities!"

"Evan, Nancy, Victor, Julie!" she muttered as she splashed water into her basin. "And now to add to mytroubles, I'm in love."



Gina recognized the real thing when she sawit, and she had realized, as soon as she had flung open thatbedroom door last night and seen him standing there, that she loved Mark. She had thought it wasVictor's friend re-turned to release them, and the exquisite shame she had experienced at being found insuch a situation by Mark had left her in no doubt of her feelings.

Everything became as clear as crystal. Her reaction to Evan's kiss, her concern for Mark himself, evenher small resentments fitted into place and were accounted for.

She cleaned her teeth, one eye on her little tree spreading its glass branches above the mantelpiece. Itgave her double pleasure now, and whatever she was doing, she liked to stop and look at it. Shewondered simply if Mark could ever fall in love with her, but dismissed such a shining thought as beingtoo much to expect. She was humble in her new-found love. She knew that Mark was very fond of her,but she didn't suppose his affection for her went any deeper than that.

It was at this juncture that Julie knocked sharply 'and came into the room.

Gina smiled at her a little nervously. This couldn't possibly be an agreeable interview, but she hoped itmight prove bloodless.

"Good morning. I hope you feel rested," Julie said in a tightly controlled voice.

"Yes, thank you," Gina said politely, and speculated on what was coming.

"I want to say a few things to you, Gina," said Julie, who never hesitated to come to the point. "Markhas of course told me about last night. He naturally took a very different view of the matter from mine,but that's only to be expected. I don't think we need discuss it except that I can't help asking if you thinkit was very loyal to involve a guest of mine in such unpleasantness?"

"But, Julie—" gasped Gina. "You must know it was nothing to do with me. It was all perfectly beastly,and I never wanted Mark, of 'all people, to know about it."

"Well, as I say, we won't discuss it," said Julie pleasantly. "Of course it makes it rather awkward foreveryone, since I'm going to marry Victor quite soon, and as Mark doesn't wish him to come to thehouse, it's all rather difficult."

"Then you are going to marry him?" exclaimed Gina impulsively. "I was afraid you might. Oh, Julie,why? You're much too good for him."

A curious expression crossed Julie's handsome face. "Don't you think that's a little impertinent?" she saidsuavely.

"No, I don't, because it's true. Julie, you can't—not after Father. You were fond of Father."

For the first time Julie seemed deeply moved. She put a hand instinctively to her eyes, shielding themfrom Gina's gaze, and when she spoke, her whole voice had softened.

"Don't speak about your father, please. There's so much you can't possibly understand."

Gina, too inexperienced to be wise, took this momentary weakening to mean capitulation, and she wenteagerly to her stepmother, and put an arm about her neck.



"I do understand. You loved him, didn't you?" she said softly. "For that reason, Julie, don't you see, youcan't marry a man like Victor. Father wasn't perfect, but ho was decent. How could you be Victor's wifeknowing all the time that he was having his mean little affairs behind your back?"

She felt Julie tremble violently, 'and she was roughly pushed away.

"How dare you, Gina!" her stepmother cried, and there was bitter humiliation in her voice. "When Iwant your advice, I'll ask for it. Do you think I don't know all there is to know about Victor's mode oflife? How dare you try and teach me what I already know and care nothing about!" She paused, shakingwith anger, and walked over to the mantelpiece, where she rested her head on her arm. Gina saidnothing, and presently Julie lifted her head, 'and continued in a low passionate voice:

"You're a little snake, Gina, and always have been. You worm your way into people's affections andexpect always to be protected." "Julie—please!"

"You don't like that, do you? Very few of us do like the truth. But you'll have to begin to stand alonenow, my dear. You can't expect Mark to support you when I'm no longer here, and of course it's out ofthe question for you to live with Victor and me. And remember this, Gina. Mark has a very strong senseof duty. You can re-pay him a little for what he has done for you, by not taking advantage of it. Do youunderstand me?"

"I don't think so," said Gina in a scared little voice. "I shall try and get something to do, of course, onceyou're married, Julie. But need I be a burden to Mark? Won't —won't you go on—clothing me—until Ican keep myself?"

Julie gave a short laugh, 'and took up the glass tree, turning it round in her hand to catch the light.

"My dear child, did you really imagine I was paying for everything?" she said in a hard artificial voice."How do you suppose I could do it on my tiny allowance? You must be very credulous where money isconcerned."

"Oh, Julie, do be careful! It's frightfully brittle

What do you mean, please?"

"Why, that you've been entirely kept by Mark, that's all."

"Mark!"

"Every stitch you wear has been paid for by him. He's been ridiculously generous, considering he's not arich man." "Then I owe everything to him?"

"Every single thing.The food you eat, the clothes you wear, the money you spend—every mortal thing."

Julie watched Gina with a certain enjoyment, and saw her go gradually whiter. There was a queerdefeated look in her green eyes, and her hands hung limply at her sides. "That's what I meant when I saidthat Mark had a very strong sense of duty," Julie finished. "It might very well lead him into being foolishlyquixotic, and if you've any gratitude in you at all, you won't take advantage of him. Now do youunderstand me?"

Gina shut her eyes, feeling a little sick, and made no answer. This annoyed Julie, who could not



altogether fathom her attitude. A wave of anger swept over her again, and her fingers tightenedconvulsively. There was a tiny musical ping!as one of the delicate branches of Gina's tree snapped off.

Gina sprang forward. "What have you done?" she cried so fiercely that Julie was startled. She backedaway, and the tree slipped from her hands on to the hearth where it smashed in a thousand pieces.

There was a pregnant little silence, then Gina fell on her knees and began gathering up the shiningfragments. "My tree!" she said. "You've broken my tree!" and began to cry desolately.

IV

"This house is hell!" remarked Sebastian, coming downstairs later in the morning, and meeting Mark inthe hall.

"Here's Julie trying to pretend to theCareys nothing's happened at all, 'and being about as successful asa mule at the Derby; you looking as though you've got one foot in the grave, and Gina howling her eyesout upstairs."

"What's the matter with her? Not Julie again, I hope," said Mark quickly.

Sebastian shrugged 'a shoulder. "She said Julie broke that tree you gave her for Christmas, She'sweeping over the fragments."

Mark frowned. "This is damnable! We shall have no peace now till Julie goes, I suppose."

"Goes?Where to?"

"She's marrying Swarm, or says she is," Mark said shortly.

Sebastian whistled, and said shrewdly, "What's going to happen to us all when that merry eventoccurs?"

Mark glanced at him. "That depends onyourselves ," he replied.

"Well, Oxford for me, I suppose—if I've got in—but what about Ginny? She can't live here with youvery well."

"No. Well, that's got to be discussed, naturally."

Gina came down to lunch, looking tear-stained and miserable, and in the middle of the afternoon Markmotored theCareys to the station.

"I'm sorry there's been such 'a damp atmosphere about your departure, Phil," he said toPhilippa , who



was sitting beside him. "The house is in rathera turmoil just at the present."

"Don't bother to explain, my dear," saidPhilippa tranquilly. "I've eyes in my head. I'm sorry for littleGina, though."

"She'll be all right when things have settled down again, I hope."

"She'll be all right because she's so eminently sensible underneath. But remember, Mark, if we can everbe of any use, Elliot and I will always love to have the child to stay indefinitely."

"Thank you, my dear, I'll remember that," he said gratefully, reflecting that there was very little whichescapedPhilippa's shrewd attention.

"Good-bye, and good luck, Mark!" she said just as the train started. "Go to it!" She made a smallgrimace at him out of the carriage window, and left him standing on the platform with a grin ofcomprehension. Dear old Phil! But it wasn't as easy as all that.

It was not until the next day that he had an opportunity of speaking to Gina alone. She seemed to bekeeping out of his way, and in the end he had to send Sebastian to fetch her.

"You sent for me?" she said, so exactly like a nervous schoolgirl that he had to laugh.

"Come along and sit down and let's be warm and comfortable," he said, pulling up a chair to the fire forher.

She sat down, and he leant against the mantelpiece and filled a pipe. "Getting over your nastyadventure?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, thanks."

"That's splendid. Now, I want to talk to you about one or two things that I think we ought to discuss."

She wished he wouldn't adopt this bright bedside manner towards her. It made it so difficult to knowwhat he was really after.

"Julie, as she's no doubt told you, is going to get married again, which means that this household willhave to be somewhat reorganized."

While he was speaking, she glanced at him surreptitiously. He was just the same of course, and yet,now, everything about him seemed changed. His eyes were kinder, his mouth more tender than she hadremembered before. He looked tired and a little strained, and that worried her.

"—so you see, my dear, we must consider what's to be done with you and Sebastian," he finished.

"I shall find some work," she said immediately.

He smiled."Where?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you would help me. You must know people who would give me a start."

"It isn't easy when you have no training."



"I know. But I don't mind what I do."

"You'd do anything?"

"Of course."

"Would you marry me?"

She stared at him dumbly. "What?" she said then, rather faintly.

He smiled again. "Don't look so scared. I was only asking you if you would include marriage in doinganything."

"With you?"

"With me.Why not? Would you hate it?"

This was unbearable! Gina for one bad moment felt she was going to burst into tears, and he watchedher with dismay. But she pulled herself together, and since her dazed emotions had to have an outletsome way, she began to laugh helplessly.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "But it does seem sucha f-funny sort of proposal."

He sat down beside her, and allowed his pipe to go out while he talked to her. "Think it out sensibly,Gina. You don't dislike living here, do you?" She shook her head. "And you are fonder of me than youwere?" That hurt a little. He was so unassuming of her 'affection. She made no answer, and he went onwith forced cheerfulness:

"You could make a home for Sebastian that way, and the three of us could manage very comfortably."No word for himself, no mention of his side of the bargain.

"And what do you get out of it?" she couldn't help asking.

"I?" he looked startled, then a little embarrassed. "Well, I should like to feel there was no danger of yourunning off and leaving me—either for the sake of a job or a young man," he said. "Besides, it would putan end to all this money business which seems to worry you so much."

The temptation was very great. She argued that it might be less trouble in the long run for Mark, if shemarried him, for as things turned out, he would have to keep her entirely, while she was learning her job,and that would mean two establishments. Yet marriage was a tremendous thing to accept from someonepurely as a quixotic gesture.

"Well—what do you say?"

"Would it be cheaper?" she asked carefully.

"Cheaper?"

"I mean would it be cheaper for you than starting me in a job and paying my expenses until I wasearning?"



"My dear, I'm not asking you to marry me on the grounds of economy!" he said quickly. "But if you hatethe idea, I'm sure Julie would help you—"

"You needn't bother to keep that up," she broke in. "Julie told me I owe everything to you. I—I'mterribly grateful."

Mentally he cursed his sister furiously. He could well imagine the sort of scene she had created for Gina.

"I'm sorry she told you that," he said quietly. "I only didn't tell you myself because you seemed sosensitive about these things and I didn't want to hurt you unnecessarily. But, Gina, you know I wasalways glad to do anything for you. It gave me great pleasure to see you enjoy your pretty things."

"May I think about it, Mark?" she said. "It's a little— unexpected. May I tell you tomorrow?"

"Of course, child.Take as long as you like," he said warmly. "Don't do anything against your will, butremember that I shall always want you, whatever happens. Talk it over with Sebastian, and see what hehas to say."

"Thanks, I will," she replied, and got out of the room as quickly as she could.

V

Talking it over with Sebastian involved no difficulties. He thought it was an excellent idea and thesolution to all life's troubles.

"After all, Ginny, you always said you'd have to marry somebody, and though I 'admit I'd never in mywildest dreams thought of Teacher, here's your chance," he said.

"What are your pros and cons?" Gina asked in an odd little voice.

"My dear old Ginny, there aren't any cons, surely you must see that?" Sebastian exclaimed impatiently."Let's tick off the pros. If you marry the Judge you'll go shares in everything. No more doling out clothesand pocket-money. You'll have unlimited claim on his purse, and that means you can pass some on to mewhenever I want it. Then we'll both have a home 'and be provided forforever, and when I've done withOxford I can settle down comfortably and work at music. I should never be any good really as the littlebread-winner, darling. We'd have the grandest times. Why, we'd be quite rich! I can't see where the snagis, can you?"

"You're looking at it entirely from your point of view, Sebastian," she said slowly. "I quite see it solvesall your troubles." There was a sarcastic note in her voice which made him wriggle.

"Oh, well, it applies to you just as much," he said uneasily. "I suppose you're thinking of the wife side of



it. I believe girls have all sorts of queer ideas about being a wife, but it's nothing really. It isn't as if you'dhave to be making love all day. The Judge isn't a bit like that. I don't suppose you'd even have to kiss himvery much once you were married. Anyway, think of the fun we'd get thrown in."

Gina realized afresh how far away from him she had grown, and felt suddenly very miserable.

"You have an awfully funny idea of marriage," she observed a little dryly."Anyway, what about Mark'sside of the business?"

Sebastian wriggled again. "How silly you are, Ginny. As if the Judge would care one way or the other,"he said. "He'd hardly notice the difference, because we've lived with him so long now. Of course he'dexpect you to be nice to him and take an interest in his health, and entertain his friends, but at his age hecouldn't want anything else."

"He's only thirty-five."

"Well, but that's getting to the sere and yellow. Mark's no chicken, and he knows it," said Sebastian,aged eighteen.

"Well, why do you think he 'asked me to marry him, then?"

"It was the obvious way out," he said cheerfully. "After all, Julie saying she's going to marry the Swannrather mucked things. It was the most sensible thing he could do in the circumstances because it providesfor both of us at one blow."

"Do you think that was his only reason?" asked Gina with a wistfulness that entirely escaped him.

"What other reason could he have? I think it was jolly decent of him. But then he's always been awfullyfond of you, darling. I told youyou went down best with older men, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"Well, go on. What are you hesitating for? If I were you I'd go right in now and tell him it's all fixed up. Iwonder if he'd begin making me a private 'allowance. After all, I'll be his brother-in-law."

"You're perfectly disgusting!" she cried in a choked voice. "All you can think about is what you can getout of people. You judge everyone in terms of hard cash, and you'll live like that for the rest of your life ifyou get half a chance. You're nothing but a rotten little sponger, only you get away with it because you'reyoung and charming. It's beastly—beastly!"

There was a trembling silence,then Sebastian said in angry tones, "Well! Of all the filthy things to saywhen I was only trying to help you!"

"Help yourself, you mean!" she said, her voice shaking with passion. "You think that through me you'llbe able to sponge on Mark and never do a stroke of work for as long as you live. You only think whatgood times we'll have on his money. You don't care anything abouthim, or me either."

"All right!I don't care 'about him or you either!" shouted Sebastian. "And I don't, too, when you're like ahowling witch."

"Well, it may please you to know that you've given me the very reason why I won't marry Mark," she



sobbed. "I won't have him sponged on! I won't, I won't!"

"You're a little fool!"

"Not half as bad as you!"

"Oh, yes, you are, because you want to marry him."

"I don't!"

"You do!"

"I don't! Howd'you know, anyway?"

"I didn't, but I do now."

"You're a perfect little beast, and I wish I was dead!"

"You soon will be if you go on like this. I never knew a girl cry as much as you do."

She stood looking at him, the tears pouring down her distracted face, and Sebastian's wrath began tocool.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. Forget it, and let's be friends," he said persuasively. "We never used to quarrel likethis. Hang it all, I don't want to put you off the Judge."

He held out his hand, but she backed away from him.

"Leave me alone!" she cried violently. "I don't want to be friends. And you needn't have hopes I'llchange my mind about Mark. You've made it impossible. I'll never marry himnow—never—never—never!"

CHAPTER XII

I



MARK took Gina's decision philosophically, arguing that after all what could he have expected? Shehad refused young Hunter, although she had admitted that he attracted her. The child was evidently toohonest to marry where she didn't love.

"I'm sorry, Mark. But you don't really mind, do you?" she finished politely.

He couldn't help smiling at the way she put it, but her words hurt all the same.

"I don't want to persuade you to anything against your will, my dear," he said, evading her question."Did you talk it out with Sebastian?"

A queer expression came into her eyes. "Oh, yes. He quite decided me."

He looked at her sharply. "Unfortunate for me," he said quietly. "What had I done?"

"Nothing."

"Then wasn't it a little hard to object?"

"He didn't object. He thought it was a grand idea," she said hardly. "He thought it was a very goodmeans of future security for himself, and that we'd both have a great time with your money."

"I see," he said comprehensively.

So he had committed an obvious folly in referring Gina to her brother. She was evidently not preparedto sacrifice herself or Mark for Sebastian's sake, and he admired her for it, while he blamed himself forhis shortsightedness. He found himself wondering what her answer would have been had he told her thathe loved her and wanted her on any terms. But Gina was in a strange mood just now. It was clearly thewrong moment to have put forward such a proposition at all.

"Well, what are we going to do with you?" he said with an attempt at lightness. "You're a little old to beadopted, I'm afraid!"

She looked up at him quickly, and her eyes were very bright. "Something will turn up between now andthe time when Julie marries," she said quickly. "Something must turn up."

"My dear, I was only joking," said Mark, upset by her anxiety. "You're not to worry 'about the future,Gina. Julie isn't going to be married until after Easter, so there's plenty of time. I shall have thought ofsomething by then."

That night Sebastian slipped into her room when everyone else had gone to bed.

"Ginny—are you awake?—I can't find you," he said, groping across the room.

"Here," said Gina, sitting up in bed.



"Darling, I'm sorry about the row. Was the Judge angry?"

"Angry?" She gave a queer little laugh."Oh no—not angry. I think he understood."

"Ginny—have I mucked things for you?" He was sitting on the bed now, and he could just see her face,a faint pale blur in the dark.

"It wasn't altogether your fault," she said, thinking that but for Sebastian's outrageous attitude she mighthave yielded to temptation and accepted Mark against her better judgment.

"You're quite decided?" he asked with one last hope that she might change her mind. "Quite!"

"Oh, well, what do we care?" he said with a mournful sigh. "Something'll turn up." "Yes. Something'llturn up."

He moved nearer. "The Victor business doesn't worry you any more, does it?" "No."

"You seem different these days, somehow. Are you unhappy, darling?"

"No—yes, frightfully."She flung her arms round him in the darkness. "It isn't anything really. It's justgrowing up. It's so—b-beastly."

"Poor Ginny.Why do it, then?" "I can't help it."

"Girls have rotten luck," said Sebastian obscurely, and kissed her.

II

The rest of January passed uneventfully, and early in February, Sebastian learned that he had won hisscholarship. He was to go into residence after Easter, which meant that if Julie kept to her presentmarriage arrangements, Gina would be left solitary on Mark's hands. The problem rather worried Mark,for although he recognized that in these days it was usual for a girl to find some means of earning her ownliving, he hated the idea of Gina working when he could still afford to keep her, added to which she wasnot fitted for anything that would help very materially.

He went to dinner one night with theCareys , and discussed it thoroughly withPhilippa , whom heconsidered a sound person, with the advantage of being in sympathy with Gina.

"I quite see it's a bit of a problem," she said when he had explained matters. "I'm sorry about Julie'sdecision, though I always felt she meant to marry the man eventually. But I don't quite understand,Mark." She looked at him speculatively. "When I last saw you I thought—PerhapsI was wrong, but thatwould have solved your difficulties for you."



"You thought I meant to marry Gina?" he said bluntly.

"Well, I rather got that impression."

"I was refused."

"What?—Oh!—Youasked her then?" He nodded. "And she refused you?—Gina?"

"I don't know why you should be so amazed," he said a little irritably, "I see no earthly reason why sheshould have accepted me, now I come to think of it. At least she paid me the compliment of refusing tomake use of me."

"But I could have sworn—Well, you do rather amaze me, Mark."Philippalooked a little blank.

"It's very charming of you to take my personal assets so much for granted, Phil," he said with a ratherwry smile. "But I've no doubt the very young look at life with different eyes."

She looked at him rather hard. "Did you propose to Gina in that sort of spirit?" she asked suspiciously.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, did you ask her to marry you in a nice, soothing, business-like sort of fashion?"

"What are you getting at? I put it as calmly and unassumingly as I could."

"I knew it!" she exclaimed with resignation. "Mark, you really are a fool!"

"For heaven's sake, why?"

"Well, can't you see—? What do you suppose the poor child thought?"

"She asked me if it was just a business proposition."

"And was it?"

"Of course not," he said a little harshly. "But how could I tell her that when she so clearly looked on it asa convenience?"

"But, Mark, can't you see that she had to take her cue from you?" saidPhilippa gently. "If you createdthat impression from the very first—as you admit you did—why should she imagine anything else? Youdo love her, don't you? I wasn't wrong?"

"I love her so much that I can scarcely bear the though of her living away from me, as she must quitesoon," he said very quietly.

"Why, in heaven's name, didn't you tell her so?" criedPhilippa .

A look of weariness came into his face. "I didn't see that it would serve any purpose," he said in alifeless voice. "The child had been through a series of emotional crises in a very short space of time, andas I'd no reason to suppose she had any feelings for me other than ones that were purely platonic, I reallycouldn't bring myself to that sort of confession. She would probably have been highly embarrassed."



"My poor Mark!" she said pityingly. "Your sentiments are so admirable and so entirely idiotic. How doyou suppose Gina liked being offered marriage as the easiest way of solving her future? You probablyhurt her very much."

"I imagined the common-sense side of the business would appeal to her, and I confess I thought shewould agree if only to provide for Sebastian." "You suggested that too?"

"Yes. It had the opposite effect. Whatever he said to her—and I gather he was infavour of theidea—definitely decided her against me."

Philippasmiled. "Don't you think that proves she's rather fond of you?"

"I don't know. It might prove anything. But really, Phil, Gina refused young Evan, although she admittedthat she thought she might care for him, so I don't see much reason why she should have accepted me."

"I don't say she's in love with you, Mark," she replied frankly. "I've no reason to suppose she is, anymore than you have. But I do know she's extremely fond of you, and she's already filled with suchgratitude towards you that, with wisdom on your part, she might have fallen in love with you."

"Oh, gratitude!" he exclaimed impatiently. "She's not had much chance to forget it. Julie's given her abad time."

"I wonder what careful little seeds she planted for you,"Philippa said shrewdly.

"Yes, I'm afraid there's been a lot of mischief done one way and another. It can't be helped now. Ididn't choose my moment very well under all the circumstances. But I still hope in time perhaps, Phil—"

"Of course, my dear.The damage isn't fatal," she said warmly. "But I still think that if you'd told her whatyou really felt, you'd have had her—even though she may not love you. Or would you not considergratitude a good enough reason for her?"

"I'm not as proud as Gina. I'd have had her on any terms," he said a little sadly.

"I'm sorry, my dear," she said sympathetically. "Well, anyhow, it's settled that when Julie marries, Ginashall come here and stay with us indefinitely. Something may have turned up by then. Do you see much ofher now?"

"Not a lot. I don't go down every week-end. She seems to avoid me rather."

"Yes, well, perhaps that's natural. How are she and Julie getting on now?"

"Superficially, I think things are all right. I don't believe Julie cares much now she's definitely ending therelationship, so things are easier."

"Poor thwarted creature! I'm terribly sorry for Julie. She makes her own hell," saidPhilippacompassionately.



III

February was a bleak month, cold and rainy, with biting east winds that skinned your face out huntingand numbed your already aching fingers.

Gina, just now, was not very happy. Her position in the Barn House had become almost intolerable,since she now must stand alone, and confide in no one. Perhaps more than anything, she missed the oldintimacy with Sebastian, more so, because he didn't appear to notice any difference. But the change wasthere. She had moved on and he had not. She recognized in him a certain Peter-Pan quality which mightnever let him grow up. She could see him in ten, twenty years' time, still the little boy, irresponsible,charming, such experience as the years might bring him sitting lightly on his slim shoulders. WhenSebastian shrugged and laughed and said, "What do I care?" with a snap of the fingers, he meant it. Thatwas the fundamental difference between them. With her it was bravado, but with him it was genuine. Hereally didn't care; consequently he had very little capacity for suffering, while hers was limitless. Betweenherself and Mark there was no very noticeable constraint, since he treated her exactly as before, andnever mentioned his proposal again. She never knew if Julie was aware that he had asked her. If shewas, she gave no sign, and her whole attitude towards Gina was one of forced pleasantness. She seemeddetermined to steer clear of any more scenes during the short time that remained to her in her brother'shouse, and Gina, taking her cue, responded accordingly.

She didn't see much of Mark during the early part of thenew year , but towards the end of February hecame down more often to Sussex, and she looked forward to these week-ends with a mixture of dreadand pleasure. It was torture to be with him and endure his old kindly affection, which now had such adifferent aspect. His small automatic endearments were almost unbearable, since each time he touchedher, she wanted either to recoil violently or fling herself into his arms.

Once he caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face the light.

"I wish you'd let me send you both to Ireland for three weeks or so, Gina," he said, "It would do yougood to get away as soon as the milder weather comes."

"We mean to go when Sebastian's sold a tune," she said cheerfully. "Perhaps at Easter, before he goesto Oxford."

"If you went then, I might manage a few days myself," Mark said. "I should like to go back there. Isuppose you'd have no objection to my paying for the holiday if I was coming too?"

Gina's body grew tense. To be with Mark in the sweetness and magic ofher own country would beunendurable. Her control couldn't hold out under too great a provocation.

"Yes, I would," she answered abruptly, almost rudely in her misery. "I don't want you to come."

He looked taken aback and rather hurt. "I'm sorry," he said a little stiffly. "It was stupid of me. I'd noidea—"

She felt wretched at having hurthim, and stared straight in front of her into the hot fire until the heat dried



up the tears which had sprung to her eyes, and she was able to look away.

The silence between them was very strained, and presently Mark said in acolourless voice:

"It's getting late, Gina. I think you ought to go to bed."

She rose at once, and turned to say good-night to him. He held out his hand and smiled suddenly.

"Sleep well, and bless you," he said.

She stood looking at him a little irresolutely, then with a swift instinctivegesture, she took his hand 'andheld it against her lips for a moment, just as she had done on New Year's Eve.

"Bless you, Mark," she said in a husky little voice, and fled.

She left him looking first startled, then thoughtful. There were occasions when he wondered if she caredfor him more than she pretended. HadPhilippa been right after all when she had said that Gina took hercue from him?

He wondered for perhaps the first time what she would do if he were to make love to her.

IV

Julie went frequently to London in these days. Nothing was ever said, but it was tacitly understood thatshe went to see Victor, since he couldn't come to her. Gina would drive her to the station in the morning,and she would come back by the last train and take a taxi up. Sometimes Victormotored her down in theBentley, and Gina would hear the roar of its departure in the small hours of the morning. But beyondannouncing the date of her marriage, Julie never discussed her affairs with the household, and Ginawondered how Mark would arrange things once he had Swann for a brother-in-law.

TheCareys came down for a week-end, and one or two legal friends of Mark's occasionally turned up,but for the most part life was dull. It was the dead period between Christmas and Easter when the winterseemed harshest, and the village entered upon a long session of measles and mumps. Mark's householdsuccumbed to a mild form of 'flu, Gina taking some time to throw off the results, for she was run-downand nervy to start with.

Gina had scarcely seen Evan since the night of the charity ball, but he was down for a week-end early inMarch, and came out hunting on Saturday, riding one of thePratts ' horses. He greeted Gina with noembarrassment, and she looked at him with interest, 'and wondered why he had ever attracted her.

He looked well on a horse, and the weak March sunlight gave his skin that golden tinge she had alwaysfound so fascinating. But watching him now, she thought his face Was a little too effeminate in itsclear-cut beauty, and his mouth, which she had thought so sweet and gentle, was really a little weak.



He chatted to her easily,then took up his position at Nancy's side, where he clearly meant to remain allday.

The field moved off, and Gina found herself beside Sir Charles Napier on his big weight-carrier.

"I hear your stepmother is marrying again," he remarked.

"Yes, early in May," said Gina, whohad that morning driven Julie to the station for another day inLondon.

"What's going to become of you, young lady?" he asked.

"I don't know. Everyone's asking that," she said rather mournfully. "I shall look for some work, Isuppose, only I don't quite know what."

"Nonsense," Sir Charles said irritably. "Proctor wouldn't hear of that. I dislike these modern habits ofyoung women who must go out to work, instead of staying quietly at home, as they did in my young day."

"In your young day, they probably had homes to stay quietly in," said Gina mildly. "Everyone hasn'tnow."

"Tush! Don't you be like your scatter-brained brother, mydear. You just wait a bit and be sensible,"said Sir Charles, and rode away to speak to someone else.

"Now I wonder what on earth he meant by that," thought Gina, staring after him.

They found quickly, and had quite a brisk run in the morning. Sweeny had borrowed aneighbouringfarmer's cob, and he embarrassed Gina by his well-meant comments on her mistakes.

"Give her abeltin ', Miss Gina!" he shouted as the Southern Belle refused a fence for the third time."Gripes! It's no manner of use coaxing her, for she has a slug in her black heart this day. Will I give her acrackbehindt ?G'wan on over will ye now!" He rode up with a rush, and caught the mare a terrificthwack with his crop which sent her bounding into the air. "Holy God, she's kilt!" he exclaimed as Ginawent flying from the saddle.

"I wish you'd leave her alone, Sweeny," cried Gina angrily, as she mounted again. "You always makeme fall off."

"I'm sorry, Miss Gina, but you sit loose in your seat," said Sweeny apologetically.

"I know I do," snapped Gina, and took her next fence with more care.

Nancy and Evan kept close together, and once Nancy called out, "Not taken to a side-saddle yet,Gina? You should. It looks ever so much nicer—don't you think so, Evan?"

He smiled. "I mustn't be rude to Gina, must I?" he said naively.

Gina smiled to herself. Nancy wasn't doing so badly.

Hounds checked, but only for a moment, and they were off again.



"Good sport today!" some man shouted as he passed her on a stretch of plough.

"Very," said Gina grimly, and tried to sit firmer in her saddle.

A broken gate, a hedge; Sweeny behind shouting: "Don't belt her so hard, Miss Gina! She'll turn crankyon you.Spakesoft to her now!" And then a wood, the sun slanting through the naked branches in blindingflashes as you sped past, and here at last was the kind of nasty place you dreamed about in nightmares; aditch and hedge dangerous with overhanging branches, and an uphill, boggy take-off.

Gina felt the old sickening fear loom up within her; fear of falling, fear of being fallen upon. She was thelast. There was no one behind her, and nothing to stop her going back and finding an easier way.

"I won't be afraid, I won't be 'afraid," she muttered, desiring at least to conquerherself if she died in theattempt. She had disgraced herself before by turning back.

She sat low in her saddle, and went hard at the fence, ducking her head and shutting her eyes tight asthe mare rose to the jump. Almost at the same moment another rider appeared from a different part ofthe wood, and charged the fence at the same time. A shrill voice that Gina knew to be Nancy'sscreamed: "Get out of my way!" There was a terrific impact as both horses met and landed in a wildmix-up on the other side. Both girls were thrown clear, but Gina's foot was badly stamped on by Nancy'shorse as it struggled up.

"Good God! Are you both all right?" Gina, through a mist of pain, saw Evan's horrified face on the otherside of the hedge, and he hurriedly dismounted, and tying up his horse, scrambled over to theirassistance.

Nancy was sitting up a little distance off, gingerly putting her bowler straight, and patting her curls intoplace.

"You cut in on me!" she cried furiously. "Yououghtn't even to have attempted such a jump when you'resuch a rotten rider." She suddenly saw Evan, and gave a little sobbing sigh and put her hand to her side.

He saw that Gina was standing up apparently unhurt, and knelt down by Nancy. "Where are you hurt?"he asked anxiously. "Is it bad, dear?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think I'm going to faint. If you could just support me—thank you so much." Nancysmiled wanly, and gracefully accepted Evan's flask.

Gina stood and watched them; she despised Nancy, but she didn't blame her. She supposed this was allpart of the business of getting your man. But, later, when Nancy allowed herself to be considered wellenough to be propped tenderly against a tree-trunk, and Evan said to Gina in a rather shaky voice: "Thatwas damned careless of you, Gina. You might have killed Nancy," she felt her temper flare up.

"So might Nancy have killed me," she retorted. "It was as much her fault as mine. I thought I was thelast. I usually am."

"Well, you needn't be sosnarky . Can't you see that she's hurt, and you're not?" said Evan angrily.

"She's all right," snapped Gina. The pain in her foot was blinding. She knew it would subside a littleonce it had reached its zenith, but at the moment she wanted to scream.



"Oh, Gina, I do feel very shaky," said Nancy in a weak voice. "I think I'll have to go home in the car,Evan. Would you mind taking me back to the pub and then bringing on the horses?"

"Of course not.Do you think you can ride that far?"

"Oh, I think so." She got to her feet, clinging heavily to his arm, and he carefully lifted her into hersaddle.

"Shall I give you a leg-up?" he asked Gina a little coldly.

"Thanks." She placed her uninjured foot in his hands, and struggled up.

"Good-night, Gina."

"Good-night."

She watched them ride away slowly, Evan's hand supporting Nancy in the saddle. She could hearNancy's voice floating back to her, getting livelier as they grew farther away.

Gina sat still in her saddle, trying to rest her foot. At last, with tears of pain running down her cheeks,she turned the mare's head homewards, and began the long weary hack back.

CHAPTER XIII

I

BY the time she got home, her foot was throbbing hotly, 'and she felt rather sick. She encountered Markin the hall and stared at him in surprise.

"Hullo!" she said. "I thought you weren't coming this week-end. Julie's in town, you know."



"Yes, I know. I've only been here about half an hour," he replied. "Have a good day? I hear you had asmash-up with the Pratt lady. You weren't hurt, I hope?"

"How on earth did you hear that?"

"I met Evan coming back with the horses. He seemed quite upset. However, as the lady is apparentlyrecovering sufficiently to be taken to a dance inEastcliff tonight, I don't think she can be very bad."

Gina laughed. "The Sprat is priceless!" she said. "Well, it works with Evan, doesn't it? And to think Imight have married him! Well, well,"

"Sorry?"

"No. The Sprat's made for him, good luck to them!"

"Well, come along in and get some tea. Shall I pull your boots off for you?"

"Thanks."

She extended her uninjured foot first, and wondered if her other foot had swollen at all. But when hetook hold of her second boot and gave it a pull, the pain was so violent that she cried out.

He looked up sharply and saw that she was as white as paper.

"My dear child, what is it?" he exclaimed.

She felt as though she might faint at any minute, and she put her head down between her hands to tryand stop the sickness.

Mark gave one look at her, and hurried away for some brandy. She drank it at a gulp, and gradually thefaint-ness wore off, and she was only aware of the pain.

"I'm all right now," she said weakly. "It was only the jab my foot gave when you pulled. I ought to havewarned you. Nancy's horse trod on me rather heavily and I think my foot's swollen."

"My poor Gina, I'm terribly sorry," he said in concerned tones. He looked at the boot. "I'm afraid this isgoing to hurt you, my dear. I think we'd better cut the boot off."

"Oh, don't ruin my only pair," she protested with a smile. "Try and work it off gently, Mark. It'll be allright if you're careful."

He began to ease the boot gradually, asking her repeatedly if she felt all right, and eventually he got itoff, and the relief was immediate. He insisted on taking off her stocking and looking at the damage, andexclaimed involuntarily at the sight of herdiscoloured foot. A great purple bruise was spreading rapidlyacross the swollen instep, and he quickly rang the bell for Julie's medicine-chest.

"You must have suffered tortures," he said. "Do you mean to say you rode home all that way with yourfoot in this condition? Why on earth didn't you get Nancy to give you a lift?"

"I don't think that suggestion would have been very popular," said Gina with a grin.



"That blasted little humbug!" Mark exclaimed furiously."Nothing the matter with her, and you in pain allthe time!" He examined the foot more closely,then began to apply cold-water compresses. "You'vebruised it badly, but I don't think there's any serious harm done. It'll be easier once we get the swellingdown."

Gradually the pain subsided to a dull throb, as he bathed and massaged and finally bandaged with apractical skill which was very soothing. Then he picked her up and carried her in to tea.

"Where's Sebastian?" she asked, seeing only two cups on the tray.

"He's gone over to theNeills '. He left a message to say he wouldn't be back to dinner," said Mark,arranging a cushion for her foot.

She was suddenly very quiet, visualizing a long evening alone with Mark in this tender protective mood,and wondering which would be the greater, the pain or the pleasure.

She sat, stretched out drowsily by the fire, thin and small in her shabby breeches, listening to hispleasant voice as he talked to her, and presently she grew sleepy with the warmth and relaxation of mindand body, and fell asleep until it was time to have her bath.

Mark watched her cross the hall, limping slightly as she went.

"Are you sure you can manage? You wouldn't like me to carry you?" he asked.

"No, thanks, I'm all right."

"I'll come and bandage you up again when you've had your bath."

The drawing-room fire had not been lighted, since Julie was returning late, so after dinner they sat inMark's study, guiltily pleased that, left to themselves, they hadn't bothered to change. Gina clad in an oldwoollen frock, shuffled about in bedroom slippers because she couldn't get a shoe comfortably over herbandage, and Mark looked at her with amusement.

"We're rather a ragamuffin pair tonight, aren't we?" he said.

"It's nice, isn't it? So much more homely," she said.

They glanced across at each other, and laughed, comfortably aware of a new pleasant intimacy.

"We like a lot of the same things, don't we, Judge?" said Gina, snuggling deeper into her chair.

"Yes," said Mark, and there was momentary sadness in the brief monosyllable.

She looked at him swiftly. His face was in shadow, so that she couldn't see his expression, but his handswere full in the firelight, and she watched his sensitive fingers cross anduncross each other as he satstaring into the fire. Once they tightened convulsively, the knuckles gleaming whitely for a moment, and asif suddenly aware that his hands were giving him away to Gina, he folded his arms across his chest.

"Are you happier now, Gina?" he asked her abruptly.



"Happier?"

"Yes. I've imagined you haven't been frightfully happy of late."

She made her usual assertion. "Oh, I'm all right. It's been rather a beastly time though, hasn't it?'Flu andbad weather and things."

"Is—I hope Julie's nice to you now," he said hesitatingly.

"Oh, yes. Things are quite peaceful. I'm sorry, Mark

It must be foul having perpetually squabbling women in your house."

"My dear child—!It's scarcely your fault, is it?" he said quickly. "You ought never to have livedtogether, really. I'm afraid Julie has become terribly vindictive in her unhappiness. It must come fromunhappiness, of course."

"Of course.Julie was desperately in love with my father, you know, and I don't think he ever thoughtmuch about women in that way. He was a queer crazy person. I believe he was devoted to my mother.Even to me whom he did love, he was often very queer. Julie must have suffered terribly, with hertemperament."

He looked at her with tenderness. Howunresentful she was of Julie's unkindness!

"Weren't things often rather difficult in Ireland?" he asked.

"Yes, they were, but it was different there. One was younger, and could always get 'away if the housebecame too hot," she said frankly. "You see, Sebastian and I were at school most of the time, and in theholidays I think Julie tried to be nice for Father's sake. But he never noticed these things much. As longas he had his hobbies and a little rough shooting, and a bit of fishing, he was really quite oblivious to whatwent on in the house. Julie ought never to have married him. He was just like Sebastian, youknow—always deep in some new scheme, and quite irresponsible. He never really knew what he wanted—if he wanted anything 'at all. I think he was happy just existing. Julie took all the responsibility off hisshoulders, you see. I think he chiefly appreciated her for that, and she knew it."

"Not very much seems to have escaped you as a child," he observed with a smile.

"No. Well, at that age I think one is naturally very curious about one's elders," she said with a funny littlematureness of speech that made him laugh.

"What do you honestly think of Sebastian?" she asked suddenly.

He glanced 'at her without speaking, then he said cautiously: "Well, I confess I sometimes feel a littleworried about him."

She gave a sharp, impatient sigh. "So doI ," she admitted. "I don't believe he'll ever settle to anything."

"Oh, well, he's only a boy still. He may shake down quite well later on," said Mark reassuringly, but sheshook her head.

"No. Sebastian's feckless. Father was just the same— that's why we never had any money," she



replied. "He had a fixed view-point about money—mostly other people's money—and Sebastian is thesame, only ten times worse. I hope you'll make him work, Mark."

"You can't make anyone work who won't, my dear," he told her kindly. "But I'll do my best."

"And then of course you must make me work," she said in a matter-of-fact little voice. "But you won'thave to drive me hard. I'm very willing."

There was a silence during which he watched her face, sharply outlined in the firelight. The elfin lookwas strongly apparent in her tilted eyes and flaming hair, but there was a queer, rather weary hint ofmaturity in her high, delicate forehead and bitter-sweet mouth.

"You've never thought of reconsidering your other decision?" he asked her gently.

She didn't move. "No."

"I'm sorry. I'd thought that perhaps—"

"Perhaps what?"She asked the question on a sharp intake of breath.

"I thought perhaps you might have become fond of me enough not to mind."

There was a little pause,then she asked with some difficulty, "Did you mean it to be merely 'a marriageof convenience on my side? I mean—would you expect—"

Was that then the chief difficulty? But he could only be honest.

"Did you think I wanted nothing from you, Gina?" he said quietly. "I'm afraid I never intended you tothink that our marriage would be purely formal." He looked straight at her. "That sort of thing hardly everanswers, my dear, and it's no use pretending that I would expect nothing on your side."

He couldn't quite understand her expression as she said,

"I thought—I was afraid "

"You were afraid I should expect too much?" he said gently. "Is that why you refused me, Gina?"

She looked at him in such amazement that he was further puzzled.

"Oh, Mark! You don't know very much about me!" she said with 'a little smile, and at that momentSebastian came excitedly into the room.

"Hullo, you two! All snug and warm by the fire! I'm frozen," he exclaimed, and squatted between themon the rug. "Sweeny says you've hurt your foot. Is it bad?"

"Just bruised.The horse is a sagacious animal but heavy withal; the hoof of the horse is shod with iron,"said Gina in a sing-song voice.

"And when the hoof of the horse is shod with iron, is not the hat of my uncle in the hall?" inquiredSebastian earnestly."Poor old Ginny! I'm glad it wasn't me. Mark, I'm spending all day tomorrow withtheNeills . You don't mind, do you? We've got a scheme for a money-making concern."



"Oh! What's that?"

"Running a syncopated coffee-stall in Piccadilly.Arthur Neill would shake the drinks—I mean serve thecoffee— Mavis would sing, and I would play one of those sweet little cottage uprights you can wheelabout quite easily on a barrow. All my own tunes of course. I'd become well-known that way."

"I'm sure you would!" said Mark dryly,

"No, honestly, Mark, it's a scheme," Sebastian said seriously. "We could work in something for Ginnyas well, and then we'd both be off your hands. You'd put up the capital, of course, but that wouldn't bemuch—just enough to buy the stall and the piano and the barrow and things. You'd soon get it back.Well—I'm off to bed to finish my thriller—Good-night, chaps!"

He leapt up, and having kissed his sister, went out of the room. They could hear him singing at the topof his voice as he went up the stairs.

Mark burst out laughing. "How's that for a perfectly serious business proposition?" he said, but Ginalooked unhappy.

"It would be funny if he didn't really believe it," she said a little shortly. "I don't see you ever gettingSebastian firmly established in some nice neat city office, Judge."

"Well, there are other jobs. We shall have to consider," he said easily, but privately he saw the yearsstretching ahead with Sebastian living charmingly at his expense, and relieving the monotony by becominginvolved in harebrained financial ventures from which Mark would have to extricate him.

"I shouldn't worry about his future yet, anyway," he said.

She threw the cigarette she was smoking into the fire. She looked very tired.

"I think I'll go to bed soon, Mark. I've had quite a hard day," she said.

"Is the foot hurting?" he asked quickly.

"A bit."

She stood up, and put her foot gingerly to the ground.

"Ow! It's got stiff from sitting," she exclaimed, and limped painfully towards the door.

"Let me carry you up," he said at once.

"No, please, Mark," she returned hastily.

He went across to her and picked her up in his arms. "Don't be such a little silly," he said.

He felt her whole body stiffen as he carried her across the hall, then she suddenly relaxed against him,and her arm tightened round his neck.

It seemed to Gina a long way up those stairs. Mark never spoke, but when they reached the door of



her room, he paused before putting her down, and looked into her green eyes with a queer little smile.

"Little sweet," he said softly, and kissed her.

II

The next morning, when Gina came down to breakfast, she found Mark alone in the dining-room staringout of the window at the driving rain which had been steadily pouring down since dawn.

He turned as she came into the room, and said rather brusquely, "Julie never came home. She rang upjust now to say she couldn't manage to get back last night."

She didn't at once understand why he should be annoyed about it, and she supposed she must havelooked her surprise, for he said quickly:

"She oughtn't to have done it when she knew you were alone in the house with me. The servants mighttalk."

Gina laughed and sat down at the table. "Oh, Mark!

Surely these days!" she protested, helping herself to coffee. "I shouldn't worry about theproprieties—besides Sebastian's here."

"Well, she should have rung up last night," Mark persisted. "She won't beback now till late tonight. Isuppose Swann ismotoring her down."

She was silent, thinking of the prospect of a day and another long evening alone with Mark. Shewondered if he was irritated on that count.

"I don t suppose she thought you were here," she said quietly. "We none of us expected you thisweek-end."

"Probably she didn't. Lord! The whole sky's coming down! I'm afraid you'll have to put up with me as asolitary companion today, Gina. It doesn't look as if we'll want to leave the house."

She gave him an oblique look, but said nothing, and he came and sat down 'at the table.

"I never asked after the foot!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Julie put everything out of my head for themoment. I do hope it's giving you less pain."

"Oh,it's better, thanks," she smiled. "It's awfully tender, but the swelling's completely gone. I'm going tobe allcolours of the rainbow soon!"



"Poor child!I'll bandage it again after breakfast."

After breakfast, Gina curled up with a book by Mark's study fire, while he sat at his desk and wroteletters.

But she couldn't concentrate on her book. She was too aware of the scratching of Mark's pen, theoccasional flutter of paper, the opening and shutting of a drawer; all the tiny intimate indications of hispresence in the room. Her mind kept going back to last night. How unbearable it had been to discuss theidea of marriage with him again; what exquisite torture to feel his hands touching her foot, his armscarrying her upstairs . . . "Little sweet . . ." It really wasn't fair of Mark.

Lunch was a rather silent meal. Gina was ill at ease, and Mark didn't help her much. He seemedengrossed with his own thoughts, and when they went back to the study for their coffee, he sat staringinto the fire and scarcely spoke. Later, however, he became suddenly gay, devoting every minute of the'afternoon to Gina's amusement; spoiling her, teasing her, paying her compliments, so that by tea-time shefelt so nervous that she was almost ready to cry. He seemed to go out of his way to touch her, findingexcuse in massaging her foot, arranging a cushion at her back, tucking a stray piece of hair behind herear. It was nearly unbearable. She smoked endless cigarettes to give herself something to do, and whenthe tea-things had been taken away, she sat opposite him in the firelight, tense and silent, lighting onecigarette from the other.

It had poured all day, and she watched the rain rattling against theuncurtained window, the waterrunning in bright streams down the glass, caught by the dancing light inside the room.

Mark, who had been watching her, got up and took the cigarette from her fingers. "That's enough forthis evening," he said, throwing it into the fire. "You'll be a nervous wreck if you go on at this rate."

"I shall be a nervous wreck if I don't," she muttered, and reached out her hand for the silver box.

He caught her fingers in his and stopped her. "No, you naughty child, you're not to have 'any more," hesaid with a smile. "You're shaking as it is." He leant over her and took her chin in his finger and thumb."Look at me, Gina—"

Her endurance snapped at last. "Don't touch me again, Mark!" she cried, twisting her body out of hisreach and springing to her feet. "If you come near me again this evening, I'll go up to my room and staythere."

He put his hands in his pockets and stood looking at her in silence.

"I can't bear it—why can't you leave me alone?" she said, as if the words were forced out of her.

"Do you dislike me as much as all that?" he asked quizzically.

Her mouth trembled suddenly, and she abruptly turned her back on him. After another long look at her,he crossed over to the window and drew the curtains, the old brass rings running along the pole with afriendly rattle,then he came back to the fire.

"Gina—" he said gently.

"Do you think it's fair to treat me like this?" She spoke with her back still towards him.



"How have I treated you?"

"Never leaving me alone—pretending to make love to me! And last night—Doyou think it's fair?"

There was a little pause and a log of wood collapsed in the grate with a tiny crash, sending a fountain ofsparks up the chimney.

"I wasn't pretending," said Mark quietly.

She turned then, and he saw her face in the firelight, white and pinched with misery, the tears streamingfrom her startled eyes.

"Oh, Gina—my poor sweetheart," he exclaimed, and a moment later, with an odd little cry of defeat,she was in his arms.

III

He knew now without a shadow of doubt that Gina loved him. She returned his kisses with a passionthat was all the stronger because it had been so long repressed, and he felt all her unhappy loneliness ofspirit go out to meet his own.

"You love me, Gina?" he murmured once. He wanted to hear her say it.

"Oh, yes, yes! I love you more than anything in the world," she answered. "You're everything that has'any meaning for me—everything.. . ."

"Did you really never think I might be in love with you?" he asked her curiously.

She lifted her head to look at him. "No," she said simply. "Are you?"

"Oh, my darling child!" he exclaimed a little helplessly, and took her face between his hands to kiss heragain. "I've loved you for so long now, I can't remember when it began," he told her tenderly.

She clung to him suddenly, a little desperately. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she cried desolately. "IfI'd only known when you asked me—Yousee, it was the day after I knew I was in love with you. I evenhoped you might eventually love me,—and then you asked me to marry you, and it was so—socold-blooded."

"Listen, Gina, we must talk this out," he said gently, and sat down on the sofa, taking her with him. Shetucked her feet under her, and curled up in the circle of his arm.

"I proposed to you in a perfectly insane manner. I soon realized that. But you must try to look at thingsthrough my eyes. I hadn't an idea at the time that you cared for me in any but a perfectly friendly way, but



I did think that you might be willing to marry me in place of a job. I thought, I admit, you would havebeen quite ready to provide a home for Sebastian, and I honestly imagined you would mind beingdependent on me less if you were my wife than if you had no legal claim on me. We've been at crosspurposes all the time. I'm 'afraid I must have caused you an awful lot of unnecessary misery, poor sweet."

"Oh, Mark, it was ghastly," she confided. "I thought you were merely carrying duty to its logicalconclusion— the English have such queer ideas on the subject.—Buteven so, I think I would havemarried you if it hadn't been for Sebastian and something Julie once said. You see, I thought that in timeperhaps I might have got you to love me a bit, given a fair chance."

"How lovely you are, Gina," he said. "A lovely mind and a lovely spirit—Whathad Julie said to you?"

"She warned me that you might be—quixotic."

"And she told me that you didn't caretuppence for me."

"That was devilish of her," said Gina quietly, "because she must have known. Any woman must have."

"Well, it's all over now, thank God. We can begin again," Mark said with a great sigh of thankfulness."Do you want me to propose to you all over again, darling?"

She was suddenly still, and he felt her body stiffen. He waited, a little uncertain of her,then she said veryquietly:

"I'm not going to marry you, Mark."

He looked down at her in amazement. "What? But, my darling child, that's all finished with now," hesaid, a little puzzled.

She drew slightly away from him, and when his arm tightened round her at once, she said:

"No, let me go. I want to explain." She was speaking in a flat toneless voice now, and looking straight infront of her. "When you asked me to marry you, you told me to talk it over with Sebastian."

"Yes. I realized afterwards that was about the rashest thing I could have done," he interposed quietly.

"No. It wasn't, really, because it gave me an opportunity of seeing exactly what your life would be if Idid marry you. Sebastian has been my dearest companion always, but I can see him for what he is.Charming, selfish, utterly without moral obligation. He only wanted me to marry you so that we couldboth sponge on you for the rest of our lives. I couldn't have that"—her voice broke suddenly —"Icouldn't have someone trading on your love for me for their own interests."

He heard her to the end, then put his arms round her and lifted her close to him. "Oh, my dear, don'ttorture yourself so," he said gently. "I know just what Sebastian is—better than you do, perhaps. I don'tmind. I'm willing to give him anything under the sun for the privilege of marrying his sister."

She rested her head rather wearily on his shoulder. "You're somarvellous yourself that you would feellike that about it," she said. "But to me it matters most terribly. I should never be completely happyknowing that you were being continually imposed upon."

"I think you exaggerate a little, my darling," he said then. "After all, Sebastian will presumably find some



sort of job eventually, even if it's only tofulfil his heart's desire and be a pianist in a jazz band!"

"He'll never work if I marry you," she said, her voice suddenly hard. "You said yourself that you can'tmake someone work who won't. Sebastian would live on you for the rest of his life, and in your heart youknow it. Don't you see, Mark, it would destroy us all? What happiness would I have, knowing you werebeing continually sponged on? What happiness would Sebastian have, losing his self-respect and hiswhole self? It would all come back on you in the end and make you miserable."

"I think you're putting too fine a point on the ethical side of the business," he said quietly. "Sebastianmight change—in time he may marry himself, and then he'll have to attain to some sort of responsibility."

"That's a weak argument," she said at once. "You're only stating what you hope may happen, not whatyou know will happen. No, no, Mark. "We both owe you too much for me to contemplate such a thing."

She wriggled out of his grasp, and stood up, not wanting to be so close to him that she knew she mustweaken.

"But, Gina, this is absurd!" he cried in despair. "I can't think your reasons are sound, though they arevery meritorious. You said just now that had you known in the first place that I loved you, you might havemarried me. "Why should things be any different now?"

"I didn't. I said I wish I'd known," she replied, looking down at him unhappily. "I admit I was temptedbefore I'd talked to Sebastian, but now—oh, God! Can't you understand?"

He responded immediately to the desperate note in her voice. "I understand, but I think you're wrong,"he said. "Gina, do you really mean to throw away your own happiness and mine for the sake of an ideal?"

"There's only one other way," she said slowly. "You can be my lover."

He looked at her steadily, his heart aching for her in her unhappy struggle.

"Darling, that wouldn't work," he told her very gently.

But the idea grew in her mind as their one means of escape. She knelt beside him, and put her hand inhis. "Why not, Mark?" she said eagerly. "No one need ever know—it would be so easy. Couldn't we behappy that way without having to lose anything?"

He shook his head. "You can't have your cake and eat it."

"It wouldn't be. To me, marrying you would be having my cake and eating it," she cried. "Mark, darling,I love you so much that I want to give and give. But I've nothing to give but myself. I'm yours just whenyou want me. Please, Mark—it's the obvious way out."

His fingers closed tightly over hers. "That's the most wonderful thing you could say to me, Gina," hesaid, "but not possible."

"Why?" she repeated, her mind stupid with unhappiness.

"How do you think I should feel putting you in such a position—a man of my age, and a child like you?"he asked her.



"Age hasn't anything to do with it," she broke in.

"Well, but my dear, don't you see that I couldn't possibly be happy taking everything from you andgiving you nothing."

"But you would be giving me everything I wanted. I love you."

"Sweetheart, you must try andunderstand, it just wouldn't do ."

"You mean you think it's wrong?"

"No, not in itself.But the reason doesn't justify such a course."

She knew of old she couldn't wear him down, and she broke into tired, desperate weeping.

"Gina dear"—he bent over her, resting his cheek against her bowed defeated head—"don't hurt us bothso much. Can't you see, sweet, that marriage is the only way out? You're torturing yourself for nothing. Ifeel this is all somehow mixed up with your old sensitiveness of being dependent on me. Surely you don'tmind, now we love each other."

"I don't mind that—any more," she gasped between her sobs. "I'm just grateful. But Sebastian'sdifferent—we can't—"

"I understand what worries you, but I know you're wrong."

"I'm not—people must find themselves—"

He couldn't argue with her on the same ground. "Don't try and work it out now. Just say you'll marryme," he said gently, but she only sobbed, "I can't—I can't —"

Presently she grew quieter, and stood up, leaning wearily against the mantelpiece. Her foot wasbeginning to ache rather badly again.

"Well, this seems to be deadlock," Mark said a little sadly.

"Mark, won't you ever give in?" she pleaded, with one last attempt at breaking down his resolution.

"No, Gina," he said steadily.

She gave a little hopeless shrug. "And I can't," she said in exhausted tones.

"I can do nothing to help you, child. You must fight it out for yourself," he told her gravely.

"I have, and I think I'm right."

"And I know you're serving a false ideal."

She stared at him dumbly with eyes that were dark, and drowned with tears,then with another littleshrug she quietly left the room.



CHAPTER XIV

I

MARK went back to London early the next morning, and Gina drove him to the station. They hadscarcely spoken on the way, and now she stood beside him on the platform longing for, and yet dreading,the arrival of the train. It was cold and raw, and they began to walk up and down.

"Have you definitely turned me down, Mark?" Gina said at last, approaching the subject with difficulty.

"Isn't it rather the other way round?" he replied.

"Then you won't even consider it?" She was talking in stiff, unnatural little sentences.

"My dear, how can I?"

"Quite easily if you really want me."

"That's not very kind. I'm suffering every bit as much as you, Gina—" He stood still, and turned to lookdirectly at her. "If there was a genuine barrier to our marriage, I would consent to your becoming mymistress, but the reason you put up as a bar can't, in my eyes, possibly justify such an action. Please try,my darling child, to see it from my point of view, which honestly is the only sane one."

She stood looking at the ground, her hands in the pockets of her old tweed coat. "I see, Mark," shesaid quietly. "Here's your train."

He found an empty carriage, and stood leaning out of the window and looking down at her. Her facewore that white stony look he knew so well.

"Take care ofyourself ," he said. "Eat proper meals and rest that foot."

"I always eat proper meals," she said mechanically.



Doors were being slammed now, and he held out his hand. "Only aurevoir ," he said. "I'll be down nextweekend. Perhaps you'll have changed 5rour views by then."

She slowly shook her head, then, putting her hand suddenly in his, she said urgently:

"Write to me, Mark. Please write to me so that I'll have just something of you to myself."

The hardness had gone from her face, leaving it young and desperate and pinched with misery.

"Of course I'll write—this very day," he said quickly.

"Gina, you poor child, I wish I could help you—Good bye, darling—"

The train began to move, and she released his hand and stood motionless, looking up the line until thelast carriage had disappeared in the distance.

His letter, when it came, was long, and he had tried to go over the whole situation again in detail, butGina realized finally that she would never convert him to her own point of view, and she abandoned theidea of putting her own case again on paper.

The week dragged on uneventfully, and on Thursday Sebastian received a letter from a song agentenclosing acheque for twenty-five guineas. They had managed to place two dance tunes for him, and heWas wild with excitement.

"Didn't I tell you, Ginny?" he cried, waving thecheque aloft. "Now I'll treat you to a holiday, though whyyou couldn't let Teacher pay when he was perfectly willingto, beats me. It seems just wanton waste ofopportunity."

Gina smiled."Darling Sebastian! Will you really spend it that way? There's nothing I should like betterjust at this moment."

"Yes, you do look peaky—whatever that may mean," said Sebastian. "Well, back toBallyskillen we willgo and stay as long as the money lasts. It ought to be enough, oughtn't it?"

"Tons," she agreed. "Why, twenty-five guineas is a lot of money—or does one say twenty-five guineasare a lot of money?—Anyway, the farm was cheap enough, and there's nothing to spend it on when youget there. It's really only the fare that's expensive. That'll cost us about twenty pounds for two returns,which leaves five pounds over. We could stay a fortnight."

They spent their whole time discussing ways and means and consulting maps.

"Though why we look at maps, I can't think.We aren't going to explore Ireland," Gina remarked.

"You always look at maps when you go to foreign parts," said Sebastian. "Besides, it's fun."

On Friday, Gina waited nervously for Mark's arrival, and when he came she searched his faceanxiously, almost as if she had expected him to have changed since Monday. He looked rather tired, andhis shrewd eyes examined her inquiringly when he first saw her, but his greeting was usual enough, and,although she longed to go to him and fling her arms about his neck, her nervousness vanished.



She told him almost at once of the proposed holiday, and couldn't quite make out his expression as helistened.

"Julie says we can go, so there's nothing to do now but take our tickets. We've already written to theCaseys . They took us in before," she told him excitedly. "It will be so lovely to get back and away fromeverything."

"Yes, it's probably a very good plan as things are," he agreed. "Otherwise it might have been wiser tohave waited till Easter and some better weather."

"It always rains in Ireland anyhow," said Gina. She looked at him a little doubtfully. "Don't you want meto go, Mark?"

He hesitated, and stood jingling his keys in his pocket, without looking at her. "It isn't that exactly—" hebegan slowly "—but I get the absurd feeling that when you're in Ireland, Gina, you somehow elude me. Itsounds silly. I can't explain—I felt it when I came to fetch you back fromBallyskillen in December—I'mafraid all the time of losing you."

He looked up suddenly, and smiled a little apologetically, and Gina felt the tears sting her eyes.

"Oh, Mark," she said softly. "You need never be afraid of losing me—never. How could I—" Shestopped and suddenly ran over to him and put her arms round him.

"I can't bear you not to touch me," she said, her lips against his. "Darling, darling, you won't stop lovingme because I can't—"

For a moment he held her to him,then he gently disengaged her hands.

"Swetheart, listen to me," he said quietly. "I can't possibly make love to you in my own house if youdon't mean to marry me. Do you understand, Gina?"

She looked up at him, her green eyes widening in dismay. "But how can you help it now we know welove each other?" she asked naively, and he smiled.

"It's very difficult not to, certainly," he admitted. "But you can't have your cake and eat it."

"You told me that last week-end," she said quickly. "You're terribly hard, Mark."

He looked suddenly rather old. "Do you think that's altogether fair? You used to tell me I was just."

"I think just people sometimes are hard."

"Gina—all my life I've had to look ahead for the future rather than live in the present," he told her after aslight pause. "I think you know that I had next to nothing as a young man, and such income as I have nowhas only been achieved by hard work coupled with the fact that I was always looking ahead. When Iwould like to have married, I couldn't afford to, and now—You see, that sort of life often gives one areputation for hardness, but I've learnt by now that if you can't have a thing, the only way is to cut it rightout. Is that being hard, do you think?"

She drew away from him, and her young mouth was still bitter. "You may have learnt to live that way,Mark, but I haven't," she said in a flat voice. "I don't think that life's so simple that one can cheerfully do



without any sort of happiness just for a principle,"

He looked at her, pityingly. "My dear, it isn't just a principle," he said gently. "It's common sense aswell."

"I understand. I'll try to remember," she said quietly, and began discussing the Irish project with him.

"Twenty-five pounds seems awfully little to rely on for two people," he said once. "I wish you'd let mesupplement it."

"Guineas," she corrected gravely. "We shall have plenty. Don't spoil it, Mark. It's the first time we'veever paid for anything ourselves."

"Well, will you promise me that if you get in any difficulties you'll let me know 'at once."

"I believe you're quite worried about us," she said with a smile.

"I want that promise, Gina, before I let you go," he said seriously.

"It's yours, willingly."

"No nonsense about being under an obligation to me, or anything?"

"I've learnt that isn't important, Mark. You see, I love you."

His lips tightened. The situation was almost unbearable. "I'm glad you no longer mind," was all he couldthink of to reply.

II

It was decided that Sebastian and Gina should start on Thursday.

Mark came to see them off by the boat train, and filled Gina's arms with magazines and chocolates.

"Don't let Sebastian lead you off on some wild-goose chase this time," he said half-seriously. "And don'tforget that promise, should anything go wrong."

"What should go wrong?" she said, laughing. "You talk as though we're going to the ends of the earth!"

"Perhaps you are as far as I'm concerned," he said a little cryptically. "Look after her, Sebastian."

"Ginny looks afterherself ," replied Sebastian. He got into the train and settled himself in a corner of theircarriage with a box of Gina's chocolates.



"Gina—you'll let me know how youare? " Mark said.

"Of course."

"Often?"

She nodded, but suddenly felt she couldn't speak. There was something momentous in this parting withMark. She wished suddenly that she wasn't going.

"You won't get ill while I'm away, will you?" she inquired anxiously.

"I'll try not to. And you—don't go falling into bogs or anything dangerous."

"I won't."

"And, Gina—think things over again in the peace and quietness of your own country, will you?"

They stood together in the noise and shifting movement of Euston Station. Gina, continually jostled bythe hurrying people, was aware of nothing but Mark's tall figure, his strong, sensitive face, his grey eyesthat were just a little bit weary, and she felt her throat contract sharply.

"I want you to be happy," she cried instinctively.

"You are all my happiness," he said.

"Oh, Mark, I love you so."

"But not enough to sink your pride."

She looked at him with startled eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't it a queer sort of pride that makes yourefuse to allow Sebastian as well as yourself to bedependent on me?"

"But I'm thinking of you!" she exclaimed. "I won't let you be made use of, sponged on—hurt."

"Well, think it over.—Youought to get in now, my dear. You're due to start in three minutes."

The guard was shouting his warning, doors were slammed, heads thrust out of windows.

Gina gave Mark a quick glance, then threw her arms round his neck and hugged him passionately.

"Good-bye, darling, darling," she said,then releasing him abruptly, she turned and got into her carriage.

"If anything happens to me, I bequeathDogsbody to Sweeny," she called to Mark.

He stared at her without speaking, then came to the window and stood there looking up at her.

"Gina—you'll come back?—Youpromise?" he cried with an odd kind ofdespefation in his voice.



"Of course I'll come back!" she said, and the train began to move. She hung far out of the window,waving until she had long ago ceased to distinguish him among the crowd of people on the platform, thenshe pulled up the window, and sat down opposite her brother.

"We're free!" shouted Sebastian, his mouth full of chocolate creams. "We're free of the dirty English!Eringobrah !"

III

Ballyskillenwas wrapped in mist when they arrived, and it remained like that nearly all the time theywere there.

Every day they walked for miles through the wet heather, the soft Irish rain falling gently on their glowingfaces, and the rich peat caking their boots. The days went by, each one like the last, but they never knewwhat day it was—in Ireland there is very little sense of time. They ate when they were hungry, stopping atany poor farmhouse for a taste of potato-cake and tea, and slept long and dreamlessly in their hard littlebeds at Casey's.

Sebastian was completely happy for the time being, but Gina felt restless. Ireland was too sad a countryto comfort her in her own sadness, and she was torn with doubts 'as to the wisdom of her decision.

She loved Mark so completely that there was no room for the trivial likes and dislikes which went tomake up Sebastian's life; and how, if she loved him, could sheharbour the kind of pride which couldstand between them? Yet he had said she didn't love him enough to sink that pride.

For the first time she began to query the honesty of her own motive in refusing to marry him. Wasn't heright perhaps when he had said that it was pride which made her shrink from allowing her brother as wellas herself to be dependent on him? Unhappily she argued with herself, night after night, listening to thesoftly pattering rain on the roof, and the occasional plaintive cry of plover. She might deny herselfhappiness for the sake of a false ideal, but what right had she to deny him? She would remember his facewhen he had said, "You are all my happiness," and bury her own in her pillow and cry herself to sleep.

She received frequent letters from him. Friendly, dispassionate little notes containing odd scraps of newswhich he thought might interest her.

"Julie is to be married on May 8th. . . .Dogsbody has killed one of Sweeny's hens under thedining-room table. ... There is arumour that the Evan-Pratt engagement will be announced shortly. . . ."

Gina smiled at this. So Nancy had got her man in the end! She supposed they would be married in ayear's time with full pomp and ceremony and then settle down to a polite married existence together, withbabies appearing at discreet intervals.

She had a brief vision of herself as wife to Evan, and laughed at the prospect. She would have had very



little satisfaction out of giving to him. But bearing children to Mark would be proud and thrilling. Tocreate something for him from the patience andlabour of her own body would bring the only truesatisfaction of giving she could ever know, and she realized clearly that by denying him herself in the onlyway in which he would take her, she was denying them both all meaning in life.

She pulled a pad and pencil towards her, and sitting on the floor by the fire, began to write a letter toMark. . . .

Sebastian came in a little later, flinging his wet mackintosh over a chair, and threw a letter to Gina.

"Doyle's coming to see us this afternoon," he announced. "He's awfully sorry he missed us going throughDublin. He wants to put up a new scheme."

Gina looked up dreamily from her pad. "Does he? What a bore," she said vaguely. "Tell Mrs. Caseywe'll be extra then."

She began to read over the last sheet:

". . .so you see I've decided you were right after all. I'll marry you, Mark, with all my heart, and if I cangive you what you want most in life, my own reasoning will be proved utterly false. I love you so muchthat nothing matters except your happiness—nothing inall the world but you. . . ."

She wrote a few more lines and signed her name, then, borrowing her brother's mackintosh, went outinto the wet to post her letter.

Fred Doyle arrived after lunch, as freckled and noisily cheerful as ever, and he greeted Sebastian withevery semblance of delight.

"Aren't you the very boy I was wanting?" he exclaimed, shaking him warmly by the hand, "I've aproposition to put up to you, me lad. Tell me, did you go back to yourbuks the last time I saw you?"

"Oh, yes, and I got through," replied Sebastian. "I'm going up to Oxford after Easter."

"You are, now?" said Doyle, frankly disappointed. "Isn't that the great shame? I had a neat little schemethat would make us both some money and. give you a chance to write your stuff. Have you been doinganything with it of late?"

Gina, warm and snug in her secret knowledge, listened comfortably while Sebastian spoke of his work,and outlined his vague hopes for the future, but she became alarmed as the talk proceeded, and Doyle,describing his proposition with a wealth of 'alluring detail, found a ready listener in her brother.

Sebastian was just beginning to get the smallest degree bored with his holiday. He was tired of continualdays in the rain with no one but herself for companion, and he was always complaining of the fact thatthere was no piano in the house and he couldn't try out new compositions. Doyle, with his wild-catscheme of running a small revue in Dublin, consisting of his lyrics, Sebastian's music and an orchestracomposed of out-of-work Irish musicians, fired his imagination immediately.

"All we need is a little capital to start the show," Doyle finished. "We have the old Playhouse cinemapromised us at a low rent, and Mick Boyle will be responsible for the artistes. I thought perhaps theEnglish lawyer might be interested in the financial side."



"Mark wouldn't put up any money for that sort of thing," Gina said immediately. "It would be waste oftime to ask him, Sebastian."

"I don't see why not," Sebastian replied obstinately. "It sounds a grand scheme to me."

"It would," said Gina sarcastically. "And when the next grand scheme came along and you decidedyou'd had enough of this one, Mark would have lost his money."

"Why should he lose his money?" demanded Doyle truculently. "It's a very good business offer. We onlyneed to get started, and the money will come rolling in. He'd get his own bit back in less than a year."

Gina gave him an eloquent look, but said nothing, and Sebastian broke in impatiently:

"You always pour cold water on any scheme I have for making money, Ginny, and then you turn roundand curse me when I talk of sitting at home in comfort. What do you want? I don't know what'shappened to you 'at all. Last summer you were on my side and telling me to stick to jazz, and now you'vecompletely changed."

"Well, Mark won't put up a penny for you, so you may as well get it out of your head," said Ginashortly.

Sebastian flared up. "And if you hadn't been such a selfish beast you'd have married him and seen thathe did help me," he cried.

She stared at him, and went a little white, thinking of her letter to Mark now irrevocably in the post. IfSebastian knew what was in that letter, he 'and Doyle would already be taking Mark's support forgranted. Well, he would have to know soon, and then her misery would begin.

"You do say the most rotten things, sometimes," was all she said.

Doyle, suddenly aware that there had been some sort of romance going on in the English household,opened his eyes widely and looked much interested.

"Sure, that's a great shame. There might have been pickings for us all," he remarked cheerfully.

Sebastian smiled suddenly, his green eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry. Forget it, Ginny, please," he saideasily.

Sebastian said no more to her, which she took to be a bad sign, and once, during supper, he remarkedirrelevantly:

"If I stayed over here and worked they couldn't drive me to Oxford."

Gina was woken at half-past five the next morning by Sebastian sitting on her bed in hispyjamas andshaking her.

"Ginny, get up!It's going to be a grand day, and we must climbFand's Hill," he cried. "It's the firstmorning it hasn't rained."

She sat up, blinking sleepily at him, and looked out of the window. It was only just light, and the distanthills were still wrapped in mist, but no rain was falling, and the sky wasa smooth cloudless silver.



"But why so frightfully early?" she objected, opening her pink mouth in a wide yawn.

"So that we'll see the sunrise from the top," he replied. "We'd never get there in time."

"Well, what do we care? It's the best time of the day on a mountain, anyway. Come on, Ginny, stiryourself."

Mrs. Casey gave them a cup of tea, before they started, and a great hunk of smoky bacon. "It's thegrand view you'll get this day," she said briskly. "An'mind now, don't forget to wish when you get to thetop.Herself will be listening to carry your wishes to theSidhe .G'Wanwidyous now, and don't let me get ataste ofyous all day."

They crossed theroad, their mackintoshes rolled and strapped to their backs, and plunged into thecoarse grass and heather. Before them,Fand's Hill raised its lovely outline, and lost its peak in mist. Ittook them nearly an hour to reach the foot, and their feet were soaked with bog-water when they finallypaused and rested before tackling the hill.

"It's going to be lovely!" exclaimed Gina, looking back the way they had come. "It's nearly seveno'clock now. How long do you think the climb will take us?"

"About three hours up, and two down—perhaps less," Sebastian said vaguely. "Let's start."

It was hardly more than a rough scramble really. The little mountain was a hill of about two thousandfive hundred feet, and its side was much worn with the feet of many generations who had climbed to thetop to wish. Gina and Sebastian reached the summit inunder three hours, and the mist had lifted, and nowlay in wraith-like wisps below them, waiting for the sun to break through.

"The grandest view inWicklow !" said Gina with satisfaction. "And it is. Look ! That must beGlendalough down there—that little valley. You can see the lakes and the tower in the trees."

"And look atBallyskillen over there," cried Sebastian, pointing away to the right. "How minute it looks.That train seems like a little grub, 'and yet we aren't so very high."

For miles the wild country stretched away beneath them with its grim chains of little hills, the brown bogpatches, and here and there the steely flash of lake water. Far below, they could see one of the blue andorange wooden carts being loaded up with peat and moving slowly across the heather like a tiny paintedtoy. Plovers wheeled, cutting through the few delicate fronds of mist that remained, and crying as theyflew. Gina suddenly shivered. "It's terribly lonely," she said, huddling nearer to Sebastian on the mossyboulder where they sat resting. She felt suddenly desolate and a little frightened. "Ireland is unfriendlysomehow."

"Unfriendly? You're crazy, Ginny!" laughed Sebastian. "It's the one friendly country in the world. Youcan do what you like, know who you like, and get a welcome anywhere."

"Yes. That wasn't really what I meant," she said, and gave herself a little shake.

"We must wish," said Sebastian seriously. "What did old mother Casey say?Herself would carry ourwishes to the fairies. Come on, Ginny, stand up and concentrate."

They stood together hand-in-hand in the unbroken silence, and Gina wished with passionate intensity



that she had done the right thing in accepting Mark.

Sebastian flung out his arms with a great shout that startled echoes out of the hills.

"I wished for money!" he cried."Lovely silver money! What was yours?"

"Oh, you mustn't tell!" Gina exclaimed seriously. "You won't get your wish, Sebastian, you've brokenthe rules!"

"Oh, well, what do I care?" he returned carelessly.

"Other people's money is as good as your own. Better—they have the bother of it and you have thefun."

Gina's spirit wavered for a moment,then she said quietly. "I might as well tell you now, Sebastian. I'vedecided to marry Mark after all."

"What? Have you really and honestly? Ginny, you little darling!" cried Sebastian, delighted. "It's alldefinitely fixed up?"

"I wrote to Mark yesterday. I shan't back out, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, darling—marvellous!Now we've no more cares in the whole world. You see, Ginny, I am gettingmy wish after all. Perhaps Mark will listen to Doyle's scheme now."

He burst into a flood of excited sentences, punctuated with hugs for Gina. He clearly thought she haddone this solely to oblige him. Should she try and tell him what Mark actually meant to her, shewondered, and decided against it. Not now, when his mind was filled with so many other things.

"Sebastian—will you do something for me?" she asked on impulse.

"Of course, Ginny darling.Anything in the world!" he replied joyously.

"Will you promise not to—to take advantage of Mark, through me?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well—you'll go to Oxford and do what he wants you to, won't you? I mean—give him some return forhis money."

Sebastian's eyes tilted in sudden mirth. "I mustn't be a little sponger is what you really mean," he grinned."Poor Ginny—I won't muck your chances again, darting. I'll be a holy saint of God, and I'll pay the Judgeback, what's more—that's if I ever have any money that isn't his. Because it wouldn't be muchcomplimentto him to hand him back his own cash with a noble gesture, would it?"

She laughed suddenly, and hugged him. "It's no use ever talking to you," she said. "Let's start downagain, it's cold up here. What did old Casey say?—Come down the sidebeyant and stepaisy on thegrass."

They began the descent, which was rather steep, and Sebastian, who was now in high spirits, started tocompose comic songs as he went along. They were obliged to stop several times and lean against a



boulder, too weak with laughter to proceed. Once or twice Gina slipped, and had to clutch at coarsetufts of grass to prevent herself from sliding with the loose shale which rattled down the hill as it wasdisturbed. Once they had to be really careful in rounding an overhanging piece of rock, but for the mostpart their path was easy enough, and presently they came to the shoulder of the little mountain, where, onthis side, short slippery grass sloped sharply away to their right, ending in a sheer drop to the boggyground below.

"Stepaisy on the grass!" laughed Gina. "This is where we toboggan, if we aren'tjolly careful."

"It's damn slippery," agreed Sebastian as he followed her cautiously down the rough path.

Gina turned round to watch him. He had started on another song, standing still and gesturingfantastically.

"I said to the chap: 'My good feller,

Yourbreeks are atrociously cut—' "

He flung out his arms at the last words, lost his balance and slipped over the edge of the path on to thesteep grassy slope, which became like glass beneath his feet.

"Ginny!—Oh, God!" he screamed, and began to slide, his increasing pace unchecked by his franticefforts to sustain a foothold. Stiff with horror, she watched him reach the edge, and heard his agonizedvoice.

"Ginny. . . . Ginny. . . ." She saw him slip into space, and became aware of a vast unbroken stillnesswhich beat upon her ears in waves. . . .

She didn't know how long afterwards it was that she took off her boots and crawled, sobbing painfully,down that treacherous grass slope, digging her toes and fingers into the soft earth for support. But whenshe looked over the edge, there was nothing living to be seen, but the blue and orange cart returningslowly fox its fresh load.

IV

Gina stood on the little rise in the boggy turf where she and Sebastian had first looked across to thelow-lying hills and foundBallyskillen so beautiful. It was still beautiful, but she hoped never to see it again,and she knew that in leaving for England today, she was turning her back on Ireland for ever. Mark wastaking her home, and glancing over her shoulder at the sound of a footstep squelching in the peat, she



saw him coming towards her through the grass.

He stood beside her, and put an arm round her shoulders. "We must be getting back soon, sweetheart.Our train goes in another hour," he said.

Before them, in the distance,Fand's Hill rose, dark and lovely, and Gina shivered violently.

"Let's go now," she said. But she didn't move atonce, and presently added inconsequently, "Of course itwas afaery hill."

His arm tightened about her, and she began to speak abruptly:

"Mark—I want to say before we go that I'm terribly glad I wrote you that letter before—before—doyou understand?"

"I understand," he said gently. "I feel just the same, Gina—I haven't told you yet how wonderful yourletter was to me. Can you bear to think of me a little?" She turned to him swiftly.

"I think of you all the time," she said in a low voice. "All the time, even when I remember. . . . Mark—isit wicked to care so much when someone you've loved all your life is dead? Does it matter looking aheadand wanting to be happy?"

He took her into his arms, shielding her gaze from the distant hills.

"No, of course not, child," he said a little roughly. "It's the only way to sanity. No one wants to forget,but memory must be calm, not tortured. You can only achieve that by being happy."

"I love you so terribly, Mark. I loved Sebastian, but if it had been you—"

He held her gently, protectively, that cry that other women had made before her, sweet in his ears, ". . .if it had been you . . ." He turned her face up to his and kissed her, and as she saw the expression in histired eyes, she flung her arms round his neck with the generous gesture he loved so well.

"Let's go," she said at last.

It began to rain as they reached the village—the soft fine rain of Ireland, which makes scarcely asound—and Gina turned, impelled by some hidden impulse to look back.

But a thick curtain of mist had fallen, blotting out the hills, and there was nothing to see.



Sara Seale - Beggars May Sing [Harlequin Romance 51218]

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