with him. She heard the two men laughing together down the passage. Could real friends have laughed if they had minded parting with each other?

She sat at her desk in the drawing-room biting nervously at her pen. He was going; was it possible that there would be no farewell?

But after a time she heard steps returning. Lionel came by himself.

"Are you busy?" he asked. "Shall I bother you if we talk a little?"

"No," she said softly. "I hoped you would come back."

Lionel did not answer for a moment. For the first time in their acquaintance he was really a little stirred. He moved about the room restlessly; he would n't sit down, though half unconsciously she had put her hand on the chair beside her.

"Do you know," he said at last, "I 've got something to say to you, and I 'm awfully afraid it may annoy you."

Was it really coming, the place at which he would have to be stopped, after all her fruitless endeavors to get him to move in any direction at all?

"The fact is," he went on, "I simply can't go without saying it, and you 've been so awfully good to me-you 've let me feel we 're friends." He paused, and Estelle leaned forward, her eyes melting with encouragement.

"I am so glad you feel like that, Lionel," she murmured. "Do please say anything-anything you like. I shall always understand and forgive, if it is necessary for me to forgive."

"You 're awfully generous," he said gratefully. She smiled, and put out her hand again toward the chair. This time he sat down in it, but he turned it to face her.

He was a big man and he seemed to fill the room in which they sat. His bluegray eyes fixed themselves on hers intently, his whole being seemed absorbed in what he was about to say.

"You see," he began, "I think you may be making a big mistake. Naturally Winn 's awfully fond of you, and all that, and you 've just started life, and you like

to live in your own country, surrounded by jolly little things, and perhaps India seems frightening and far away." Estelle shrank back a little; he put his hand on the back of her chair soothingly. "Of course it must be hard," he said. "Only I want you to see. Winn's heart is yours, I know, but it 's in his work, too, as a man's must be, and his work 's out there; it 's not here at all."

He stopped abruptly; Estelle's eyes had hardened and grown very cold.

"I don't know what you mean," she said. "Has he complained of my keeping him here?"

Lionel pushed back his chair. "Ah, Mrs. Winn! Mrs. Winn!" he exclaimed half laughingly and half reproachfully, "you know he would n't complain. He only told me that he was n't coming back just yet, and I-well, I thought I saw why he was n't."

"Then," she said, turning careful eyes away from him, "if he has n't complained, I hardly see why you should attack me like this."

Lionel stood up and looked down at her in a puzzled way.

"Oh, I say, you know," he ventured, "you 're not playing very fair, are you? Of course I 'm not attacking you. I thought we were friends, and I wanted to help you."

"Friends!" she said. Her voice broke suddenly into a hard little laugh. "Well, what else have you to suggest to me about my husband-out of your friendship for me?"

"You 're not forgiving me," he reminded her gently, not dreaming what it was she had been prepared to forgive. "But perhaps I 'd better go on and get it all out while I 'm about it. You know it is n't only that I think he won't care for staying on here, but I think it 's a bit of a risk. I don't want to frighten you, but after a man 's had black water fever twice, he 's apt to be a little groggy, especially about the lungs. England is n't honestly a very good winter place for him for a year or two-"

Estelle flung up her head.

"If he was going to be an invalid," she said, "he ought n't to have married me!"

The silence that followed her speech crept into every corner of the room. Lionel did not look puzzled any more. He stood up very straight and stiff; only his eyes changed. He could not look at her; they were filled with contempt. He gave her a moment or two to disavow her words; he would have given his right hand to hear her do it.

"I beg your pardon," he said at last. "I have overstated the case if you imagine your husband is an invalid. I think, if you don't mind," he added, "I 'll see if my things are ready."

"Please do," she said, groping in her mind for something left to hurt him with. "And another time perhaps you will know better than to say for my husband what he is perfectly competent to say for himself."

"You

are quite right," Lionel said quietly; "another time I shall know better." The rain against the windows sounded again; she had not heard it before.

He did not come back to say good-by. She heard him talking to Winn in the hall, the dog-cart drove up, and then she saw him for the last time, his fine, clearcut profile, his cap dragged over his forehead, his eyes hard, as they were when he had looked at her. He must have known she stood there at the window watching, but he never looked back. She had expected a terrible parting, but never a parting as terrible as this. Mercifully she had kept her head; it was all she had kept.

CHAPTER V

It was shortly after Lionel's departure that Estelle realized there was nothing between her and the Indian frontier except the drawing-room sofa. She fixed herself as firmly on this shelter as a limpet takes hold upon a rock. People were extremely kind and sympathetic, and Winn himself turned over a new leaf. He was gentle and considerate to her, and offered to read aloud to her in the evenings.

Nothing shook her out of this condition. The baby arrived, unavailingly as an incentive to health, and not at all the kind of baby Estelle had pictured. He was almost from his first moments a thorough Staines. He was never very kissable, and was anxious as soon as possible to get on to his own feet. At eight months he crawled rapidly across the carpet with a large music-box suspended from his mouth by its handle; at ten he could walk. He tore all his lawn frocks on Winn's spurs, screamed with joy at his father's footsteps, and always preferred knees to laps.

Estelle lay on the sofa one autumn afternoon at four o'clock, with her eyes firmly shut. She was aware that Winn had come in and was very inconsiderately tramping to and fro in heavy boots. He seldom entered the drawing-room at this hour, and if he did, he went out again as soon as he saw that her eyes were shut.

Probably he meant to say something horrible about India; she had been expecting it for some time. The report on Tibet was finished, and he could let his staff work go when he liked.

He stood at the foot of her couch and looked at her curiously. Estelle could feel his eyes on her; she wondered if he noticed how thin she was, and how transparent her eyelids were. Every fiber in her body was aware of her desire to impress him with her frailty. She held it before him like a banner.

"Estelle," he said. When he spoke she winced.

"Yes, dear," she murmured hardly above a whisper.

"Would you mind opening your eyes?" he suggested. "I've got something I want to talk over with you, and I really can't talk to a door banged in my face."

"I 'm so sorry," she said meekly; "I'm afraid I'm almost too exhausted to talk, but I'll try to listen to what you have to say."

"Thanks," said Winn. He paused as if, after all, it was n't easy to begin, even in the face of this responsiveness. She thought he looked rather odd. His eyes

had a queer, dazed look, as if he had been drinking heavily or as if somebody had kicked him.

"Well," she asked at last, "what is it you want to talk about? Suspense of any kind, as you know, is very bad for my heart."

"I beg your pardon," he said. "It was only that I thought I'd better mention I am going to Davos."

"Davos!" She opened her eyes wide now and stared at him. "That snow place," she asked, "full of consumptives! What a curious idea! I never have been able to understand how people can care to go there for sport. It seems to me rather cruel; but, then, I know I am specially sensitive about that kind of thing. Other people's pain weighs so on me."

"I did n't say I was going there for sport," Winn answered in the same peculiar manner. He sat down and began to play with a paper-cutter on his knee. "As a matter of fact, I 'm not," he went on. "I 've crocked one of my lungs. They seem to think I've got to go. It's a great nuisance."

It was curious the way he kept looking at her, as if he expected something. He could n't have told exactly what he expected himself. He was face to face with a new situation; he was n't exactly frightened, but he had a feeling that he would like very much to know how he ought to meet it. It had all come with a curious suddenness. He had gone to Travers one day because when Polly pulled he had an odd pain in his chest. He had had a toss the week before, and it had occurred to him that a rib might be broken; but Travers said it was n't that.

Travers had tapped him all over and looked grave, uncommonly grave, and said some very uncomfortable things. He had insisted on dragging Winn up to town to see a big man, and the big man had said, "Davos, and don't lose any time about it."

Winn had written to Lionel and made his will, and had rather wondered what Estelle would feel about it. He had n't wanted to upset her. He had n't upset

her. She stared at him for a moment; then she said:

"How odd! You look perfectly all right. I never have believed in Travers." Winn mentioned the name of the big

man.

"It does sound rather rot," he added apologetically. He still waited. Estelle moved restlessly on the sofa.

"Well," she said, "what on earth am I to do? It's really horribly inconvenient. I suppose I shall have to go back to my people for the winter unless you can afford to let me take a flat in London."

"I 'm afraid I can't afford that," said Winn. "I think it would be best for you to go to your people for the winter, unless, of course, you 'd rather go to mine. I 'm going down there to-morrow; I 've written to tell them. I must get my father to let me have some money as it is. It 's really an infernal nuisance from the expense point of view."

"I could n't go to your people," said Estelle, stiffly. "They have never been nice to me; besides, they would be sure to teach baby how to swear." Then she added, "I suppose this puts an end to your going out to India."

Winn dropped his eyes.

"Yes," he said, "this puts an end to my going back to India for the present. I've been up before the board; they 're quite agreeable. In fact, they 've been rather decent to me."

Estelle gave a long sigh of relief and gratitude. It was really extraordinary how she had been helped to avoid India. She could n't think what made Winn go on sitting there, just playing with the paper-knife.

He sat there for a long time, but he did n't say any more. At last he got up and went to the door.

"Well," he said, "I think I 'll just run up and have a look at the kid."

"Poor dear," said Estelle, "I 'm frightfully sorry for you, of course, though I don't believe it 's at all painful-and by the by, Winn, don't forget that consumption is infectious."

He stopped short as if some one had struck him. After all, he didn't go to the nursery; she heard him go down the passage to the smoking-room instead.

CHAPTER VI

It had n't seemed dismal at first; it had only seemed quite unnatural. Everything had stopped being natural when the small creature in lawn, only the height of his knee, had been torn reluctantly away from its hold on his trousers. This parting had made Winn feel as if something inside him was being unfairly handled.

There was nothing he could get hold of in Peter to promise security, and the only thing that Peter could grasp were the trousers, which had had to be forcibly removed from him.

Estelle wept bitterly in the hall, but Winn had n't minded that; he had long ago come to the conclusion that Estelle had a taste for tears, just as some people liked boiled eggs for breakfast. He simply patted her on the shoulder and steadfastly looked away from her while she kissed him.

He had enjoyed starting from Charing Cross, intimidating the porters and giving the man who registered his luggage dispassionate and unfavorable pieces of his mind. But when he was once fairly off he began to have a new feeling. It came over him when he was out of England and had crossed the small gray strip of formless, familiar sea, the sea itself always seemed to Winn to belong much more to England than to France, -so much so that it annoyed him at Boulogne to have to submit to being thought possibly unblasphemous by porters. He began to feel alone. Up till now he had always seen his way. There had been fellows to do things with and animals; even marriage, though disconcerting, had not set him adrift. He had been cramped by it, but not disintegrated. Now what seemed to have happened was that he had been cut loose. There was n't the regiment or even a staff college to fall back upon. There was n't a trail to follow or horses to gentle; his very dog had had to be left

behind because of the ridiculous restrictions of canine quarantine.

It really was an extraordinarily uncomfortable feeling, as if he were a confounded ghost poking about in a new world full of surprises. It was quite possible that he might find himself among bounders. He had always avoided bounders, but that had been comparatively easy in a world where everybody observed an unspoken, inviolable code. If people did n't know the ropes, they found it simpler to go, and Winn had sometimes assisted them to find it simpler; but he saw that now bounders could really turn up with impunity, for, as far as ropes went, it was he himself who would be in the minority. He might meet men who talked, longhaired, mysterious chaps too seft to kick, or radicals, though, if the worst came to the worst, he flattered himself that he had always the resource of being unpleasant.

He knew that when the hair rose up on his head like the back of a challenged bulldog, and he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at people rather straight between the eyes, they usually shut up.

He did n't mind doing this of course, if necessary; only if he had to do it to everybody in the hotel it might become monotonous, and he had a nervous fear that consumption was rather a cad's dis

ease.

Fortunately he had got his skates, and he supposed there 'd be toboggans and skees. Whatever happened, he would refuse to share a table.

It was curious how one could get to thirty-six and then suddenly in the middle of nothing start up a whole new set of feelings-feelings about Peter, who had, after all, only just happened, and yet seemed to have belonged to him always; and his lungs going wrong, and loneliness, like homesick school-girl! Winn had never felt lonely in Central Africa or Tibet, so that it seemed rather absurd to start such an emotion in a railway train surrounded by English people, particularly as it had nothing to do with what he looked upon as his home. His feeling about leaving the house at Alder

a