It Began in Vauxhall Gardens

ONE

From the moment Melisande set eyes on the clean little woman and entered her clean little house she had experienced a sense of relief. Mrs. Chubb's house, she felt, as soon as she stood in the narrow hall with the pot of ferns on the table and the homely pictures on the walls, was as unlike Fenella's as any establishment could be; and surely Mrs. Chubb, with her bright hazel eyes and white hair, the picture of an honest hard-working woman whose life was without complications, was herself as unlike Fenella as this cottage was unlike the house in the square.

A young lady, arriving in a somewhat dazed condition and looking for a room which she wanted to occupy immediately, must give cause for some speculation in such an orderly mind as that of Mrs. Chubb; but, as Mrs. Chubb told Melisande afterwards, she took to her in a flash, and she was sure right away that whatever Melisande's reason for coming to her in such a state might be, Melisande herself was All Right.

The room was on the upper floor of the two which comprised Mrs. Chubb's house. It contained a narrow bed, a chest of drawers on which was a swing mirror, a wash-hand-stand, and what Mrs. Chubb called 'appurtenances.'

Melisande asked the price. It seemed reasonable.

"Til take it," she said.

Mrs. Chubb's bright hazel eyes were questioning. "I suppose your trunk 'll be coming, Miss?"

"No ..." said Melisande. "There is no trunk."

"You a foreign lady?"

"Yes ... in a way."

"Ah!" Mrs. Chubb nodded wisely, as though that explained everything. But it did not alter Mrs. Chubb's opinion of her new lodger, for she prided herself on making up her mind about people the instant she saw them, and nothing was going to change her opinion of her powers in that direction.

A bit of trouble, a love affair like as not, or running away from home? Well, well, Mrs. Chubb would see. Mrs. Chubb—again in her own opinion—had a sympathetic way with her, and there was nothing that overcame reserve like sympathy.

"When will you be moving in, Miss?"

"I'll stay now."

"Oh! Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee? If you'll forgive me saying so, Miss, you look as if you've had a bit of a shock."

"Yes," said Melisande, "I have indeed had a bit of a shock. Please, I should like the coffee."

"What about you coming in and having it in my parlour? Then we can talk about the ways of the house."

"Thank you."

The parlour was small and clean. It was rarely used. It was Mrs. Chubb's delight, and she never entered it without looking round with an air of proud possessiveness and a quick glance over her shoulder—if she was not alone—to see the effect of such splendour on others.

There was a blue carpet on the floor; there was a heavy mirror and a mantelpiece crowded with ornaments. There were two whatnots loaded with knick-knacks, every one of which had its significance for Mrs. Chubb. There were chairs and a sofa; and near the window was a table on which stood a fern similar to the one in the hall.

"There! Sit you down!" said Mrs. Chubb. "And I'll bring you the coffee."

Melisande looked round the room when she was alone, at the pictures—most of them in pastel shades depicting groups of plump young women and graceful men—and the daguerrotype showing two people looking rather self-conscious; as one of these was undoubtedly Mrs. Chubb, Melisande supposed the other to be Mr. Chubb.

But her mind was too full of what had happened to allow her to consider Mr. and Mrs. Chubb for long. She had found a haven— if only a temporary one—and she now felt that she had time to think of what she must do.

She must never see Fermor again. She could never be happy with him, for she would never forget Caroline's face as she had stood before her. If Caroline had killed herself, she, Melisande, was to blame. Murderess! Wenna's words would always be with her. She would hear them in her sleep, she fancied; they would break through into every happy moment.

She could not go back to Fenella's. She hated the house now. It seemed sinister with its rich furnishings and air of voluptuousness. She would not allow them to assess her as they had done, to set her up in the market place.

All love was drained from her; she could feel nothing but hatred and contempt; and she felt now that she hated herself most of all.

Mrs. Chubb came in with the coffee.

"There! You like the room?"

"Very much. That is a picture of you and your husband?"

"That's right. Me and the dear departed."

"I am sorry."

Mrs. Chubb wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. She looked at the picture and recited as she must have done so many times before: "A better man never lived. His only concern was to provide for me after he had gone."

There was a respectful silence. Then Mrs. Chubb released the corner of her apron and smiled brightly. "There! All right?"

"It is very good, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Mrs. Chubb's way of breaking down reserve was to talk about herself. Confidences were like gifts between nice people, she believed; they had to be exchanged.

"That was just before he died," she said nodding at the daguerrotype. "It's two years come June since I buried him."

"I ... I see."

"A good man. We was in service together. That's how we met. But Mr. Chubb, he was the go-ahead sort. He wasn't going to stay in service all his life. Saved, he did. He had a legacy—he was thought the world of by the lady and gentleman—and he put it into two houses. He was a planner, he was. That's for you, Alice, he used to say, for after I'm gone. So he put the money into two houses—this one and the one next door. I get the next door's rent—and better tenants there never was. Mr. Chubb saw to that. And here I am with a roof over my head and taking a lodger to help things out. That's what Mr. Chubb did for me."

"You were very lucky."

"My luck came when I met Mr. Chubb. I say to young ladies who haven't got to the married state ... I always say: 'May you meet another like Mr. Chubb.' I say it to you now... that's if you haven't reached that state, Miss."

"No," said Melisande, "I haven't."

Mrs. Chubb was relieved. She didn't believe in trouble between husbands and wives.

"Feeling better now? You're looking it."

"Thank you, yes."

"And you'll not be having your things sent?"

"No. I have no things."

"Well, they're very nice, what you're wearing. But you'll want some things, won't you?"

"Perhaps I can buy them."

"Oh, I see. This shock like... . You've quarrelled with your people, have you? I'm not nosy. Mr. Chubb used to say: ' Alice, Mrs. Chubb, my dear, you're one of the few women without a nose.' That was his joke. He was full of jokes. It's just to be prepared for callers ... that's all, Miss."

"I don't think there'll be any callers."

"All on your own, eh?"

"Yes. You ... er ... you have been in service, have you?"

Mrs. Chubb was smiling broadly. Here it came. Confidence for confidence. Sympathy had the same effect on reserve as hot water on a bottle stopper that wouldn't open.

"Head housemaid, and Mr. Chubb, he went from pantry boy, footman to butler. He was a man to rise in the world."

"Do you think I could be a lady's maid ... or companion?"

"No doubt about it, Miss. Being foreign ... that's what they like lady's maids to be. Can you crimp the hair and do that sort of thing? I remember there was a foreign lady's maid in our last place. Such an outlandish name she had. And she did well for herself."

"You see, I shall have to earn a living."

Mrs. Chubb nodded. As a lady's maid she wouldn't be needing the room, would she? So she had only taken the room until she found a job. Mrs. Chubb was disappointed, but only mildly, for she liked what she called experiences as well as lodgers; and thanks to the wisdom of Mr. Chubb, she could rub along all right without letting her upstairs room. Moreover instinct had told her that she was going to like this girl, and instinct would not be disobeyed.

"Any experience, Miss? That's what they all want."

"Well, I have been a companion."

"They'll want references."

The girl turned pale. Oh dear, thought Mrs. Chubb. Been up to something!

Instinct flinched but stood firm. She's all right. Mrs. Chubb dismissed her suspicions. I'd trust a girl with a face like that. Obviously it was some brute of a man who, unchivalrous and unChubblike, had forced his attentions upon her. That explained everything. That was why she had run away.

"Unless," said Mrs. Chubb, "you had a very good recommendation from someone."

"I ... I understand. How does one start looking for such a post, Mrs. Chubb?"

"So that's what you're going to start doing?" Well, said Mrs. Chubb to herself, I do like honesty. Most would have pretended they wanted the room for ever. I told you so, said instinct. She's honest.

"I ... I want to. In fact ... I must ... soon, of course."

"Well, sometimes they put notices in the papers ... and sometimes one of the other servants recommends a friend ... or perhaps one lady will speak to another for a girl. It's done all ways."

"I shall have to start looking in the papers."

Mrs. Chubb made a decision. She said: "There's Our Ellen."

"Who is that?"

"Our Ellen. Our girl. Mr. Chubb's daughter and mine. She's in service ... in a grand house near the Park. She's got a good job, our Ellen has. She's housekeeper in one of the best houses, with a big staff under her. Now Ellen's got friends all over the place. If any lady was wanting a maid, Ellen would hear of it. Ellen's got her father's head for business. Ellen's doing well for herself."

"You think she would help me?"

"Ellen would do what her mother asked her to. Are you in any hurry?"

"Well, there will be my rent and board. I have only five or six pounds ..."

"That's a fortune!" said Mrs. Chubb.

"It's all I have and I must find something before it goes."

"Ellen will be coming to see me next Wednesday afternoon. That's her day off, and home she comes to her mother. Never fails. We'll have a talk with Ellen."

"You are very good," said Melisande.

Mrs. Chubb saw the tears in the girl's eyes.

Poor dear! thought Mrs. Chubb. Poor pretty dear!

She determined that Ellen must set the poor pretty creature on her feet, not only for the sake of the girl herself, but for the honour of the Chubbs.

Little by little Mrs. Chubb gleaned as much of the story as Melisande felt she could tell her.

She heard of Melisande's life in the Convent and the father who had eventually decided to launch her in the world. Melisande mentioned no names at all. "I was first taken to his house where I had a post as companion to his daughter, but there was gossip. I was treated too well, and the servants guessed I was his daughter."

Mrs. Chubb nodded at that; she was well aware of the sagacity of servants and their unflagging interest in the affairs of their employers.

"So he sent me to a friend of his. A husband was chosen for me, but I could not accept him."

"It's a good thing," said Mrs. Chubb, "that I know the upper classes and what's right and wrong to them. Now if I was like my next door tenant ... why, bless you, my dear, I'd be inclined to think it was something you'd made up."

Melisande did not attempt to describe the nature of Fenella's establishment; she felt it would be something Mrs. Chubb would never understand; nor did she tell of Fermor for, if there was one man in the whole world who lacked the chivalry of Mr. Chubb, that man was Fermor, and Melisande could not afford to lose the sympathy of her new friend—now her only one—by trying to explain that in spite of obvious villainies, she still hankered after him. How could Mrs. Chubb, who had been cherished by a saint, understand the fascinations of a man like Fermor? Mrs. Chubb might even withdraw her good opinion of Melisande if she tried to explain.

A few days after Melisande's arrival at the house, Ellen appeared.

Ellen was a big woman, plump and forceful. "She's got more of her father than me in her," said Mrs. Chubb admiringly.

Ellen, clearly accustomed to parental admiration, sat like a queen in state in the parlour, so that it seemed smaller and more overcrowded than usual. She talked of her own affairs for so long and in such details—speaking of the Lady and Him, and people with names like Rose, Emily, Jane and Mary, all of whom Mrs. Chubb seemed to know very well indeed, for she inquired feelingly after Mary's bad leg, Rose's flirtatiousness, Emily's headaches and Jane's slatternliness—that Melisande feared they would never begin discussing her affairs.

But Mrs. Chubb had not forgotten her.

"Now Miss St. Martin here, Ellen—she wants work, and we've been wondering what you could do for her."

Ellen paused in her flow of talk and turned her heavy body to study Melisande critically.

"She's foreign," said Mrs. Chubb, like a defending lawyer. "That ought to go some way, didn't it, Ellen ... for a lady's maid?"

"Oh ... lady's maid!" said Ellen, and grimaced.

"She's a lady, and educated in a convent."

"Most of them's governesses," said Ellen. "But she's got more the look of a lady's maid than a governess."

"It's good of you to be interested," said Melisande. "Your mother has kindly said you would be, and that you know more than anyone in London when there are such vacancies."

Ellen smiled and waved her hand as though to deny such power, but in a perfunctory way necessitated by modesty rather than the need to admit the truth.

"If you should hear of something for me," went on Melisande, "lady's maid or governess, and could say a word for me, I should be so grateful."

"If there should be something going, you can be sure I'd hear of it, and I don't mind admitting that a word from Ellen Chubb would go a long way."

"You are most kind. Your mother has told me what power and knowledge is yours."

Mrs. Chubb was beaming; she did not know who pleased her more—her lodger-protegee, with her pretty face and charming ways, or her omnipotent, omniscient daughter.

They talked for half an hour of Melisande's qualifications, of her convent education, of her few months' companionship to a lady in the country where she had helped that lady dress and do her hair, had read to her and helped her with her clothes.

"But," said Mrs. Chubb, with winks and distortions of the face, "Miss St. Martin wants no reference made to that young lady."

The winks and distortions meant that there was a good reason for this which Ellen should hear when they were alone.

Ellen looked first grave, then confident. Grave because experience and references were two of the necessities when it came to the ticklish business of getting a job. However, so great was the power of Ellen Chubb that it might be possible—with this power working for Melisande—to dispense with what, in any other circumstances, would have been sheer necessities.

Ellen left the house that day on her mettle.

And, six weeks after Melisande's arrival at Mrs. Chubb's house, she was engaged as lady's maid to Mrs. Lavender.

TWO

The Lavenders lived in a tall narrow house which overlooked Hyde Park.

It was not a large house, and more space seemed to have been allotted to the staircases than to the rooms. It was a dark house, and as soon as she entered it, Melisande felt that it was a poor exchange for the clean conviviality of Mrs. Chubb's cottage.

Mrs. Lavender, like the house, was tall and thin. She had a dark, brooding personality. Her hair was the vivid red of a young woman's; her face was an ageing one. It was a discontented, suspicious face. The interview she had with her did nothing to lift Melisande's spirits.

She was met at the door by a manservant whom she afterwards knew as Gunter. Gunter and his wife lived in the basement. Mrs. Gunter was cook-housekeeper, Mr. Gunter butler and handyman. There was one other servant—an elderly woman named Sarah.

Mrs. Lavender received Melisande in her dressing-room, which she called her boudoir. It was an elaborate room lacking the taste displayed in Fenella's rooms yet somehow reminding Melisande of them. Mrs. Lavender's were fussy, whereas Fenella's had been grand. Mrs. Lavender herself wore a frilly neglige which did not suit her elderly face. She was lying back in an armchair when Melisande was shown in by Gunter.

Melisande stood uncertainly while Mrs. Lavender's eyes travelled over her.

"You are very young," said Mrs. Lavender.

"Oh no... . Not ... so young."

"Say Madam when you address me."

"Not so young, Madam. Eighteen."

That did not seem to please Mrs. Lavender. She said suspiciously: "I am told this is your first post."

Melisande was silent.

"It is not my custom to take servants without references. But I have heard from a friend's housekeeper that you are trustworthy and so am prepared to give you a trial."

"Thank you, Madam."

"You are French, I hear."

"I was brought up in France."

"What is your name ... your Christian name?"

"Melisande."

"I shall call you Martin."

"Oh ..."

"The wages will be ten pounds a year. This is your first post. I expect I shall have a good deal to teach you. As you will live in and have no expenses I consider I am being very generous."

"Yes. Thank you ... Madam."

"Well then, you may start to-morrow. Pull the bell and Gunter will show you out."

Melisande obeyed.

Gunter was inclined to be sympathetic. As they were on the stairs he turned and winked at her. "Got it?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you."

He grimaced, as though he thought it might prove to be a mixed blessing.

He put his hands to his mouth and whispered through them: "Tartar!"

"Yes?" said Melisande.

"Oh ... you're foreign. What about popping in to see Mrs. Gunter before you go?"

"You are most kind."

Mr. and Mrs. Gunter were pleased to entertain her in their basement room, and Mrs. Gunter in a burst of friendliness—or perhaps compassion—brought out a bottle of her ginger wine that they might drink to the success of Melisande in her new home.

Melisande was touched by their friendliness and very glad of it, for it warmed the chilling atmosphere of the house. She supposed that, had she not still been feeling rather dazed and careless of what became of her, she would have been more depressed about her future. Yet, at this moment, nothing seemed very real to her, nothing seemed of any great importance. Caroline and Fermor, with Wenna an accusing figure in the background, haunted her by day and night.

"There," said Mrs. Gunter, who was many inches taller than her husband, considerably broader, and showed a protective attitude towards him, which she was now preparing to extend to Melisande, "you sit down, and Gunter'll get out the glasses."

The Gunters' room was furnished humbly. "Our own pieces," explained Mrs. Gunter. "We never move without our bit of home, and as I say to Gunter, what's nicer than a bit of home? So you're coming to work here, eh? Steady!" That was to Gunter who was filling the glasses too full. "Can't afford to spill our best ginger. It's not so easily come by."

"I start to-morrow," said Melisande.

"I wouldn't like to be in your shoes," said Gunter.

"I'd like to see you try to get into them!" said Mrs. Gunter, giving Melisande a push to stress the joke.

Melisande laughed.

The Gunters were a merry pair. Gunter now began to mince round the room. "And how would Madam like her hair done to-day, eh? A little curl here? A little curl there?"

"Looks like he's already been at the ginger," said Mrs. Gunter, with another push. "It goes to his head ... and my legs."

"I think," said Melisande, "that I'm going to be very glad that you will be here with me."

"Well, that is a nice thing to say," said Mrs. Gunter. She added in a whisper: "She can't keep her maids."

"It's not so much her ... as him," said Gunter darkly.

"Him?" asked Melisande.

Mrs. Gunter looked evasive. "Oh, he's a lot younger than her ... regular little dandy, he is. She thinks the world of him. 'Archibald, my dear!' " mimicked Mrs. Gunter.

Mr. Gunter pranced round the room and embraced his wife.

"Gunter'll be the death of me," said Mrs. Gunter.

They were serious suddenly, looking at Melisande with concern.

"What is it?" she asked. "You think I shall not do this job? You think I shall not give the satisfaction?"

"Well," said Mr. Gunter. "I'd say you will and I'd say you won't."

"Give over!" said Mrs. Gunter sternly. "You see, Miss, she's a bit of a tartar. She's nearing sixty and she'll want you to make her look thirty. It can't be done. And every time she looks in the glass, she knows it. She's got the money. Now you'd say that when a woman marries, all she's got's her husband's. That's the law. Well, her father knew a thing or two about that and he got the money tied up in some way. Some sort of thing I don't understand. But it means the money can't go to Mr. Lavender. It comes to her ... regular ... to her, you see. Mr. Lavender can't lay his hands on it. It was a shock to him when he found out how he'd been bested. It works all right though, don't it, Gunter? It keeps him sweet and dancing attendance. Whereas ..."

"Whereas ..." said Mr. Gunter going off into laughter.

"If he got his hands on the money it might be quite a different story. As I say to Gunter, sixty can't mate with thirty and all go merry like. There's bound to be troubles. Sometimes she's not all that sweet, and who does she take it out on but us. And you, my dear, will be at her beck and call more than any of us. I think it right to warn you."

"Thank you," said Melisande.

"You don't seem very scared," said Mrs. Gunter.

"I did not expect that I should find it easy."

The Gunters looked at her sharply, and Melisande went on, with emotion: "I shall never forget your kindness. It is so good to meet kindness in this world."

Unable to reply in words to such a display of feeling, the Gunters looked shyly at each other as though to say: Foreign ways!

The verdict after she had left was that she was queer but nice. And talk about goodlooking! Far too goodlooking.

"My word," said Mrs. Gunter, "she's not going to like that."

"No," said Mr. Gunter, "but he is!"

Then they laughed but were soon serious. They were a good-hearted pair, and the beautiful young lady had aroused their compassion.

How did she manage to live through the days that followed? Only, thought Melisande, because of that numbness within her. Only because she thought: I do not care.

She did not hate the woman whose wish seemed to be to hurt and humiliate her; she did not care. When Mrs. Lavender shouted at her: "Martin, you clumsy fool, you're pulling my hair. A lady's maid, you! You're here under false pretences. I don't mind telling you that if you go on like this you'll be out, neck and crop ..." Melisande did not hear. She was thinking of Fermor, callous in that charmingly furnished hall; she was thinking of Caroline's white and tragic face. "Murderess! Murderess!" were the words she heard.

"Martin, you seem quite stupid. Don't you hear me? Are you dumb, blind and silly?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"Do not stand there smiling and looking so pleased with yourself."

I? thought Melisande. Pleased with myself? I hate myself. I do not care what happens to me. Caroline may be dead, and if so ... I have killed her.

Even in tragedy there was some good, she thought. How do ladies' maids endure serving such women as this unless they feel as I do ... indifferent ... not caring?

What a pity, she thought, that I was not the one who walked under the horse. That would have solved our problem.

Fermor? He would have been sad for a while... such a little while.

But when she made a flower for Mrs. Lavender's gown, the woman was pleased. She did not say so. She merely had the flower placed on her dress. She looked at it appreciatively. "You can make some more," was all she said. But for the next few days she did not complain so much. She was even communicative. She showed Melisande her jewels, which she kept in a small safe in her boudoir. She unbent when displaying them. She ought to keep them at the bank, she was told, but she could not bear to part with them. She liked to have them with her to try them on, even though she did not wear them all the time.

Melisande thought her appearance was always spoilt by too many jewels which, in conjunction with the red hair, made too startling a show. If the jewels had been worn sparingly with clothes less flamboyant, and her hair was its natural colour, providing Mrs. Lavender could acquire a more pleasant expression, she might suit her name. As it was that name seemed somewhat incongruous.

Melisande had made suggestions about the jewels, but Mrs. Lavender would not heed her. She presumed Melisande was jealous of her possessions.

She showed her the pearl-handled pistol which she kept in a drawer by her bed. "It's loaded," she said, "I always keep it so. I'm ready for any burglars. No one shall get away with my jewels."

Melisande listened in silence. Her apparent indifference goaded her employer to anger; yet her dignity held the woman in check. It was impossible to rave so continually at one who was so calm.

Mrs. Lavender could not understand the girl. If she were not so clever at arranging hair and supplying clever little touches to a dress, Mrs. Lavender would have decided to dismiss her; but to her astonishment she found that she was almost growing to like her lady's maid. It was surprising, for Mrs. Lavender liked few people, and she had never before had the slightest regard for a mere servant. She found herself wondering what the meaning was of that strange look on the girl's face. She did not seem by nature meek; she was not like a servant eager above all things to keep a job; it was that blank indifference which was so baffling; it was almost as though she did not care what was said to her; for she never showed the least resentment. It was as though she were living in another world, a world which was invisible to those about her.

Uncanny! thought Mrs. Lavender. But a lady ... quite a lady— which was an asset really. She was a girl one could be proud to show to one's friends ... and French into the bargain! So, on the whole, Mrs. Lavender was not displeased with her new maid.

And then Mr. Lavender came home.

Melisande was surprised when she saw him for the first time, although she should not have been, for there had been dark hints from the Gunters, and she already knew that he was considerably younger than his wife.

Sarah, the maid-of-all-work, who sometimes had a cup of coffee with the other members of the staff in the Gunters' basement room, had talked of Mr. Lavender's fondness for the bottle, for handsome waistcoats; she had talked of the scented pomade he used for his hair, of the scrapes he got into with Mrs. Lavender, and how he needed all his blarney to get out of them. It was not that Melisande was unprepared for Mr. Lavender, but for the effect she would have on him.

She was clearing up in the boudoir one afternoon while Mrs. Lavender was taking a nap in her bedroom, when Mr. Lavender came in.

She had heard a step behind her and, thinking it was Sarah who had entered, did not turn round but continued combing the hairs from Mrs. Lavender's brush.

"Oh, Sarah," she said, "is Mrs. Gunter in?"

There was no answer. She turned and there was Mr. Lavender leaning against the door and smiling at her.

There was nothing really alarming about Mr. Lavender's smile. Melisande had encountered many such smiles and she knew that they indicated admiration. She was merely startled.

"G ... good afternoon," she said.

Mr. Lavender bowed. She noticed how the quiff of yellow hair fell over his brow; she saw the gleam of a diamond tiepin, the ring on his finger, the nattily cut coat and the brilliant waistcoat; she could smell the violet hair pomade.

"This is a pleasure," he said. "You must be my wife's new maid."

"Yes."

To her astonishment, he approached and held out his hand. He took hers and held it, patting it with his olher. "I see," he said, "that we are in luck this time."

"It is kind of you to say so." Melisande withdrew her hand.

"My word, you're a pretty girl—if you don't mind the compliment."

"I do not mind. Thank you."

"You're really French, I hear. Why, you and I will get on like a house afire, I can see."

She remembered then Fenella's advice: When she did not know how to respond, to indicate that she did not understand the finer meanings of the English language.

"A house afire? That sounds dangerous."

He laughed, throwing back his quiff as he did so. She saw the flash of his teeth.

"Do you like it here?" he asked solicitously.

"Thank you. It is a kind enquiry."

"You're a charming girl—too pretty to be working for other women."

She was glad that the door leading to the bedroom had opened.

"Archie!" said Mrs. Lavender.

"My love!"

He went to her and embraced her. Melisande, glancing over her shoulder, saw that Mrs. Lavender's face had softened to that expression which Melisande had wished for it.

"You should have said you were coming home," said Mrs. Lavender.

"Thought I'd surprise you. Thought that's what you'd like. You wait till you see what I've brought for you."

"Really, Archie! You're an angel!"

"No, Mrs. L. You're the one who should be sprouting the wings."

Mrs. Lavender said: "You may go, Martin."

"Thank you," said Melisande, in great relief.

She noticed that Archibald Lavender did not give her a single glance as she hurried out.

She went to the small attic room which was hers and shut the door. She felt now as though she were waking out of her daze. What had she done? she asked herself. She had run away from Fenella's, and whatever Fenella was, she had been kind. In Fenella's house, for all its voluptuous mystery, there was a feeling of safety. Here ... there was no safety. She knew that. She sensed danger ... "like a house afire." She had little money. She knew that the notice Mr. Lavender had implied he would bestow on her would annoy Mrs. Lavender more than any incompetence. She was afraid suddenly, for it seemed that the world into which she had escaped was full of a hundred dangers from which Fenella had protected her.

She was only eighteen. It was so very young. Too much had happened in too short a time.

She longed to go back to Mrs. Chubb's, to live for ever in that cosy cottage. But how could she? To become a lodger there she needed money. Moreover Ellen had found this job, and Ellen and Mrs. Chubb would expect her to keep it.

She wanted .her bedroom at Fenella's; she wanted the light-hearted chatter of Genevra, the worldly wisdom of Clotilde, the oddly maternal solicitude of Polly and Fenella. She wanted Fermor.

She had run away because she was afraid; and now she was alone in a world full of new dangers.

She went down to Mrs. Gunter for comfort.

"So he's back," said Mrs. Gunter. "Now she'll be sweeter. I reckon he's brought her a lovely piece of jewellery. She'll be so pleased he's thought of her that she won't mind paying the bill when it comes. I bet he's telling her some tale about how he had to stay away on business and how he hated leaving her. Well, it pleases her and she likes to think that one day he's going to be a great business man with money of his own. Did you see him?"

"Yes, I did," said Melisande.

Mrs. Gunter looked at her sharply. "I can see you're a sensible girl," she said.

"I wish he had not come back."

"I daresay he said you were pretty and you and him would get on like a house afire."

"How did you know?"

"He's got his set pieces, and we've had pretty girls here before. I'll tell you something: He's a coward and dead scared of her." Mrs. Gunter pushed Melisande. "Just threaten him with her. That's what you'll have to do if he worries you."

Melisande went to Mrs. Gunter then and laying her head on her shoulder put her arms about her. "It was so pretty-like," said Mrs. Gunter later; "and then I saw she was crying quiet-like. She looked different after that. The quietness seemed to have gone out of her. When she stood back she was like a different person. I never saw her eyes flash so before. Beautiful they looked. And I thought: 'Hello! Here's a side we don't know about yet. I reckon Mr. L. will get slapped if he goes too far!' "

"Martin," said Mrs. Lavender, "do you play whist?"

"A little, Madam."

"Then you shall join us ... after dinner. Mrs. Greenacre cannot be with us."

"Oh ..." began Melisande.

"You need not be afraid. We shall not expect you to dress. I shall explain to our guest who you are. Nothing will be expected of you but to play your hand."

"But ..."

"You'll do as you're asked, of course."

Melisande went to her room to wash. She always locked the door whenever she went in. She had done so since Mr. Lavender had knocked one evening to ask how she was. He had fancied she looked tired, he had said. It had been difficult to keep him on the right side of the door; but she had done so with quiet dignity and great determination.

After that she always turned the key in the lock and, if there should be a knock, asked who was there before opening the door.

She washed thoughtfully and combed her hair.

She had been three weeks with the Lavenders; that meant it was nine weeks since that day when she had walked out of Fenella's house. She wondered whether they had tried to find her. Fenella would have been so hurt; so would Polly. As for her father, he would probably be glad, for now that she had run away she had solved his problem for him. He could not blame himself for what happened to an illegitimate daughter who spurned his care and refused to marry the very respectable young lawyer whom he had provided for her. Genevra ? Clotilde ? They would not care deeply. She had been but the companion of a few weeks in their eventful lives.

She had to forget what had happened. She had been reading the papers every day since the accident. Surely if Caroline had died she would have seen some notice to this effect. She had never asked Fermor where he and Caroline lived, but it should not be insuperably difficult to find out. But if she did and went to the house to enquire of the servants, she might meet Fermor or Caroline and that was what she must avoid.

She heard a carriage draw up outside the house. This would be to-night's guest. She went to the window and looked down. She could not see very clearly the person who stepped from the carriage, but she did see that it was a man who appeared to be about Mr. Lavender's age.

She was glad that she did not have to join them at dinner. She was indeed not looking forward to the evening at all. Mrs. Lavender would be rude to her, she was sure, and she was beginning to resent such treatment.

Now, when the woman bullied her, retorts rose to her lips. Surely that was a sign that she was growing away from her nightmares and was feeling a stirring of interest in her new life.

She was wearing the black and green dress bought in Paris. It was less fashionable now, and she had worn it scarcely at all while she was at Fenella's. While she was at Mrs. Chubb's she had bought herself two cheap gowns for daily wear—one lilac colour, the other grey.

She combed her hair and parted it in the centre so that it fell in ringlets over her shoulders.

She was feeling nervous when the summons came for her to go to the drawing-room.

"This is my maid, Martin, Mr. Randall. I have sent for her to make a fourth at whist. So tiresome that Mrs. Greenacre could not come."

He rose and, taking Melisande's hand, bowed over it.

He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes; Melisande liked him at once because his smile was sympathetic with no hint of patronage in it.

"I am afraid," said Melisande, "that I shall be a poor player. I have played very little."

The young man—who now seemed younger than Mr. Lavender —smiled again. "I am sure Mr. Lavender and I will forgive you if you trump our aces ... eh, Archibald?"

Archibald mumbled that he was not sure about that. He was very cautious under the eye of Mrs. Lavender; but, when he was sure she was not watching him, he smiled at Melisande in a manner to indicate that he did not mean what he said.

"You may put up the card table, Martin," said Mrs. Lavender.

Mr. Randall helped her to do this.

"There is no need for you to trouble," said Mrs. Lavender. "I am sure Martin can manage."

"It is a pleasure," said Mr. Randall.

They sat round the table and the cards were dealt. Melisande blundered again and again. She had played very little at Trevenning and on those rare occasions when the cards had been brought out at Fenella's it was usually in order to tell fortunes, and when whist was played it was never seriously.

She apologized nervously. "I'm afraid Fm not very good ..."

Mrs. Lavender said with a short laugh: "You are right there, Martin. I'm glad you're not my partner."

Mr. Randall, whose partner Melisande was, hurried to defend her. "I'm not at all sure that was not finesse, Mrs. Lavender. Not sure at all. You wait and see."

It was very good of him, Melisande thought; she was aware that he was guiding her, seeking all the time to cover up her mistakes.

When Sarah brought in tea and biscuits for refreshment, which, Mrs. Lavender prided herself, was so fashionable, she told Melisande to pour out.

"Why," said Mrs. Lavender, scrutinizing the tray. "Sarah has brought four cups."

Melisande felt suddenly angry. It was because—she realized afterwards—Mr. Randall with his quiet consideration had restored her self-respect. Her spirits were reviving. She would not endure further insults. If necessary she would leave Mrs. Lavender and find someone else who needed a lady's maid.

"You need have no fear, Mrs. Lavender," she said quietly but deliberately, "I did not intend to pour tea for myself. I quite understand that I was ordered to attend merely because a guest failed to appear. I have no more wish to drink tea with you than you have to see me do so."

Mrs. Lavender gasped. Melisande, with trembling hands, poured the tea and handed it round.

Both men were watching her, Mr. Lavender uneasily, Mr. Randall admiringly. In Mrs. Lavender's cheeks two spots of colour burned.

She was unsure how to act. Her first impulse was to tell Melisande to go and pack her bag; but she did not want to lose her. It gave such prestige, to employ a French maid; besides the girl was clever in her way and she would be useful on occasions like this, for she was undoubtedly as well-bred as Mrs. Lavender's guests. There was satisfaction in possessing such a maid.

She said: "Mr. Randall, we must forgive Martin. She is French, you know. That means she does not always understand our English ways."

"I am sure," said Mr. Lavender, "that Martin means no harm. I am quite sure of that."

Mr. Randall looked at her with admiration and pity.

"Well," said Mrs. Lavender, "we'll overlook your behaviour, Martin. You may pour yourself tea."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lavender, but I do not wish for it."

Again there was a brief silence. Melisande became aware that she was beginning to relish the situation. She had a feeling of glorious indifference to consequences. I shall be dismissed, she thought; and I do not care. There must be many employers in the world who are no worse than Mrs. Lavender, and surely some who are much better.

"She does not like our English customs," said Mrs. Lavender. "They say the French do not drink tea as we do."

"It is not the customs I do not like," said Melisande. "It is the Martin," said Mrs. Lavender, her face now purple. "There is no need for you to remain."

"Then," said Melisande, "I will say good night."

Mr. Randall was at the door to open it for her.

She sailed through. She ran up the stairs to her attic. She locked the door, sat on the bed and laughed. She thought: How Genevra would have enjoyed that! Then a terrible longing came over her to be with Genevra again, to laugh with her, to exchange this sparsely furnished little attic for her luxurious apartments at Fenella's, to wear beautiful clothes, to chatter in Fenella's salon, and above all to see Fermor there.

Then she threw herself on to the bed and laughed until she cried.

But she must pull herself together. She got up and bathed her face. After the visitor had gone she would be needed to help her mistress prepare for bed. Mrs. Lavender should not have the pleasure of seeing that she had shed tears.

She would, of course, be given notice to leave. Very well, she would have to find herself something this time. And somehow she would make a new life for herself. She would live again.

Being alive again meant a return of pride, a return of hope. She indulged in day-dreams now, as she had when she was a child at the Convent.

She was Melisande to whom wonderful things must happen. She had been hurt and she had allowed that hurt to crush her. She remembered the little punishments at the Convent, which had seemed enormous at the time. She remembered the first time she had been sent to the sewing-room and kept there for three hours. It had seemed a lifetime. And in the same way now, a few weeks seemed a lifetime. But the gloom always passed and the brightness broke through ... as it would now.

She had several happy dreams, but none of them could be carried to a satisfactory conclusion. None could be complete in itself. One was that Sir Charles repented of his pride and came to claim her; he took her back to live in Cornwall. But how could she go on with that dream ? What of Caroline, his daughter ? Was Caroline alive ? Was Caroline dead? Then she dreamed that she was married to Fermor. But where was Caroline in that dream? Caroline must always be there; Caroline alive made their union impossible. Did Caroline dead make it equally so? Sometimes she thought of Leon— not the Leon she remembered, tortured by a terrible tragedy, furtively looking about him as it seemed for the accusing eyes of those who believed him guilty of a callous deed, but a Leon who was a combination of himself, Fermor, and her new acquaintance Thorold Randall. Sometimes she dreamed that Fenella found her and took her back, and that in the salon she met a stranger; he was this new combination of Fermor, Leon and Thorold Randall.

She clung to these dreams. They represented hope. She took new pride in her appearance. She was so pretty, and it became pleasant once more to accept the little attentions which were the natural homage of beauty like hers, and which came from cab drivers, policemen and men in shops to which she went on errands for Mrs. Lavender. All that gave her confidence, new weapons with which to fight the Lavenders.

This was being alive again.

Strangely enough Mrs. Lavender made no reference to the little scene which had taken place in the drawing-room. She had decided to overlook it and put it down to foreign temperament. Melisande knew then that Mrs. Lavender was by no means displeased with her work.

Two days after the whist party, on the occasion of her free afternoon, Melisande came out of the house to find Thorold Randall standing idly outside.

She was pleasantly startled. This was Melisande reborn, eager for excitement. Her green eyes sparkled.

"Why," he said, "it's Miss Martin."

"You want to see Mrs. Lavender ? She is resting. But Mr. Lavender is at home."

"I wish to see neither of them. But I was waiting for someone."

"Oh?"

"I should like to offer my condolences for the other night. I was distressed."

"I was not. I was glad."

"Glad to be treated as you were! A young lady like yourself?"

"A lady's maid, Mr. Randall. You forget that."

"I forget nothing. It is distressing to see a young lady like yourself treated in such a way."

"Then that is very good of you. I will thank you and say goodbye."

"Please don't say goodbye. May I walk a little way with you?"

"But you are waiting for someone."

"For you, of course."

"But how did you know I should be free?"

"A little careful enquiry."

She laughed. "Then it was doubly good. First to wait and tell me you are sorry. And second for taking so much trouble to do so."

As they walked along, he said: "There were unpleasant consequences? She er ..."

"I am still her maid. She has said nothing of the incident. So you see you should not be so sorry for me. You will make me sorry for myself, and it is not good to pity oneself. If you are not pleased with life ... then you must seek some means of changing it."

"It is not always possible to change it."

"Then one must make it possible."

"You are a strange young lady. I thought at first how quiet you were that evening ... how meek."

"Crushed!" she cried. "Mrs. Lavender had her foot on my neck. That is what you thought. It was not so. I just did not care that night. Then suddenly ... I arise. I throw off the foot, and there I am, ready to fight for my dignities ... my rights to be treated not as a lady's maid but as a person."

"Why are you doing such work?"

"Why does one work? Perhaps there is a vocation, and that is one answer. Perhaps one wants to eat, and that is another. Tell me, Mr. Randall, do you work, and for which reason?"

"A little of both. I too must eat. My income is too small for my needs. I am in the Guards. You can call it a vocation."

"So you are a soldier! I must walk this way. I am going to visit a friend who lives near the Strand."

"Then I will walk that way too."

"So you wish to be a soldier and you wish to earn money. You are one of the lucky ones. You do the work you like and by doing it you earn money."

"I hadn't thought of it like that until now. Thanks for pointing it out, Miss Martin."

"My name is St. Martin. Mrs. Lavender calls me Martin because my Christian name is too long and unsuitable; and no lady's maid could be called 'Saint' by her employer."

"Miss St. Martin. And may I know your Christian name?"

"It is Melisande."

"It's beautiful and it suits you. Melisande St. Martin. We have a St. Martin in the regiment. I wonder if you are related to him. His people have an estate in Berkshire."

"Oh, no, no, no! St. Martin is not the name of my family. I was an orphan ... left in a convent, you see. I think neither the name of my father nor my mother is St. Martin."

"I see. What a mysterious person you are! May I call you Melisande? Oh, believe me, that is not meant to be impertinent. It is just that St. Martin seems so remote. Melisande—that is entirely yours, and so charming."

"Then do—providing you do not address me so if there should be another whist party, and I am called up to make a fourth."

"I promise, Melisande."

"I turn off here ... I am going to visit a friend."

"Let me accompany you."

"Her name is Mrs. Chubb, and I had a room in her house. She is so kind. And so is her daughter Ellen who is all-powerful in the the world of cooks and ladies' maids. She found me my post with Mrs. Lavender."

"Would you think it impertinent if I asked what you were doing before that?"

"No. I should not think it impertinent, but I might not wish to answer. Here is Mrs. Chubb's house, and I will say goodbye."

"May I wait for you?"

"Oh, but you must not."

"I should like to. Then I could escort you back."

"It is not necessary."

"Please ... as a pleasure, not as a necessity."

"But I may be a very long time."

Mrs. Chubb, who had been watching through the curtains, opened the door.

"Why, here you are then. I thought I heard footsteps. Oh ... and not alone!"

"Mrs. Chubb, Mr. Randall. This is Mrs. Chubb, Mr. Randall— my very good friend who has been so kind to me."

Mr. Randall bowed, and Mrs. Chubb summoned her instinct and, obeying its commands, took a liking to him on the spot.

"Well, you'll come in, won't you?" she said.

Thorold Randall said he would be delighted.

Mrs. Chubb bustled them into her parlour. She glanced quickly at the daguerrotype as though she were asking Mr. Chubb to take note of her visitors.

"It is so kind of you," murmured Mr. Randall. "Such hospitality ... to a stranger ..."

Mrs. Chubb went to the kitchen to fetch the refreshments she had prepared.

He was a gentleman. Trust her to know that. A handsome gentleman, too; and he could provide the right ending for her favourite lodger. Mrs. Chubb's instinct had always told her what was what; and right from the beginning it had told her Melisande was not cut out for servitude. Here was the answer; a handsome man who was already half in love with her and would very soon be completely so, who would offer her a devotion rivalled only by that which Mr.

Chubb had given his wife, and a great deal more in worldly goods besides, Mrs. Chubb was sure.

Mrs. Chubb felt like a fairy godmother. She had done this—she and Ellen between them.

Following that afternoon there were other meetings.

The Gunters knew of them, and they smiled delightedly. Sarah said it was lovely, and that it made her cry every time she thought of it. Mrs. Lavender was unaware of what was happening, because she was aware of little except her own affairs; but Mr. Lavender continued to watch his wife's lady's maid with an ever-increasing attention.

Thorold Randall had become a more frequent caller at the house; it seemed as if he had discovered a bond between himself and the Lavenders. He could compliment Mrs. Lavender as she liked to be complimented, and he was knowledgeable about Mr. Lavender's favourite topic—horses and their chances.

But always he was alert for the appearance of Melisande; and whenever he came to the house he found some means of speaking to her.

Melisande's half-day came round again. She knew that when she left the house she would find Thorold Randall waiting for her. She enjoyed his company; it seemed to her that he was growing more and more like that picture she had built up of that man who was a little like Fermor, a little like Leon, and a little like himself.

For instance, there were times when there seemed to be a certain boldness in him—and that was Fermor. At others he would talk of the lonely life he led, for he was an orphan and had been brought up by an aunt and uncle who had had little time to spare for him, and he would then remind her of Leon. And then he was himself— courteous, almost humble in his desire to please. She was very happy to have him as her friend.

He was waiting for her when she left the house.

"It's a lovely day," she said. "Let us walk in the Park."

She did not often walk there now. She remembered drives with Genevra, Clotilde and Lucie, and she could not enter the Park without fearing to meet them. Moreover young ladies did not walk in the Park alone—that was asking for trouble. But now she was no longer afraid; it was as though she were tempting adventure. If she met anyone from Fenella's house she would feel safe, for she was becoming firmly settled in her new life.

It was pleasant to walk along by the Serpentine chatting with Thorold. He took her arm and led the conversation—as he did so often—away from himself to her.

She said: "You are unusual. Most people wish to talk of their affairs, not to hear about those of other people."

"Perhaps when I am with others, I talk of myself. But you interest me so much ... far more than myself."

"Nobody is quite as interested in others as in themselves surely."

"Here is one who is so interested in another person that everything else now seems unimportant."

"Ah! You would flatter me. What is it you wish to know of me?"

"I should like to look into your mind and see everything that is there, to know your thoughts. What do you think of me, for instance ?"

"I think that you are most kind and courteous to me always, as you were from the beginning."

"Would you like to hear what I think of you?"

"No. It is enough that you give me your company on these half-days."

"It is not enough for me. Tell me why you are here?"

"It is because I like to be here."

"No, no. I mean, why a young lady like yourself is working for a woman like Mrs. Lavender."

"It is so simple. She needs a maid. I need to be a maid. That fits ... perfectly, you see."

"It does not fit."

Melisande had stood still where she was on the grass. Across the gravel path a woman was wheeling a bath chair and in the bath-chair was a young woman.

"What is it?" asked Thorold. "Someone you know?"

Melisande did not answer; she stared after the wheel chair. Neither the woman in the chair nor the one who was wheeling it turned her head to look in Melisande's direction.

"What is it?" insisted Thorold Randall. "What has happened?"

"It is ... someone I know," she said.

"Then ... don't you want to speak to her? Wouldn't she be glad to see you?"

"Oh no... . They would not be glad to see me. Oh, but I am so glad to see them."

"Come and sit down. You look shaken."

"Thank you."

They found a seat. He was watching her curiously, but she had forgotten him. She was thinking of Wenna pushing the bath-chair, of Caroline sitting there, wan, pale ... but alive.

So Caroline had escaped death. There was no more need for Melisande to hear that voice whispering to her: "Murderess! Murderess!" But although Caroline had survived she had to be pushed about in a bathchair. Why? Was she merely delicate and unable to walk far, or was she crippled?

Still ... she was not dead, and she had Fermor. As for Melisande, she must cease to think of them. She must banish Fermor from her mind for ever; she must leave him to Caroline.

She lifted her face to the sun and thought that it was a lovely day.

"They upset you ... those people?" said Thorold.

"No. Oh no! I was glad to see them. I thought she might be dead."

"The one in the chair?"

"Yes. There was an accident. I never heard the outcome."

"Great friends of yours?"

"I knew them well."

"And yet you did not speak to them. You did not enquire?"

"It is all over. It is a part of my life that is finished."

"I see."

"I feel gay. It makes me happy to have seen her and to know that she did not die. I feel that I want to laugh and sing, and that life is not so bad after all ... even for a lady's maid."

"You are wrapped in mystery. Tell me what you did before you came here."

"I was in a convent."

"You told me that."

"I was in the country for a long time, and then I left and I ... Well, they wanted me to marry someone and I did not want to. Then ... I came away. Shall we go from here? I would rather not be in the Park now. I would rather go where I have never been before."

"Just say where you want to go and I'll take you there."

She remembered that Polly had told her how her father and mother had met in a pleasure garden. She had only been to such a place once and she longed to do so again.

"To a pleasure garden," she said.

"Let us go to Cremorne then."

"I have never been there. I should greatly like to go."

"Then that is sufficient reason."

Melisande never forgot those hours she spent with Thorold Randall. It seemed to her then an enchanted afternoon. Spring was in the air and she felt happier than she had for a long time. Perhaps she mistook relief for happiness. She was gay, wildly, hilariously gay, for Caroline was alive. Caroline had suffered but she was Fermor's wife, and Melisande could not be sorry for Caroline now.

Thorold Randall could not keep his eyes from her. She was more beautiful than ever. Her laughter was merry, her wit quick. It was as though he found in her another person, even more delightful than the charming girl he had known hitherto.

They went into the American Bowling Saloor; they sat and listened to the Chinese orchestra; they explored the crystal grotto and the hermit's cave.

"This is an enchanted place!" cried Melisande.

"I believe you are enchanted," he answered. "I believe you are not of this world. None was ever so beautiful, Melisande. I must talk to you. You must talk to me. There is so much we have to say to one another."

"But there is so much to see here ... so much to do."

"What has happened to you this afternoon?"

"I have found I like being alive."

"Has that anything to do with me?"

"Yes ... with you and other things."

"I don't want to share with others."

"But you must. There is the sunshine and this delightful place, for one thing."

"J brought you here."

"But you did not bring the sunshine. You took me to the Park, but ..."

"It was the lady in the chair who has made you happy."

She said seriously: "Yes. You see I thought she was dead, and it made me sad to think it. Now I know she is alive and is cherished, and I am happy because of that."

"There is so much mystery about you, Melisande. Clear it away for me."

"What does the past matter? We are here and the sun is shining, and I have found that I am liking life. I do not care about Mrs. Lavender any more. She may be rude to me, throw her hairbrush at me ... but I do not care. I am finding that life, which I did not think could be good, is good again." Her eyes were enormous and brilliant. "And something else. I believe this: That however bad life became for me, however sad I felt, I should be able to make happiness for myself and those who shared it with me."

"Melisande," he said gripping her arm, "you are an enchantress, I believe. You are not of this world. You are not human."

"I should like to think so. What if I could work spells ... turn men into swine! That was Circe, I believe. Although I would not wish to turn men into swine. Why should I? I do not like swine."

"But you could turn them into whatever you wished them to be."

"That would be more sensible."

"You might have turned the man they wished you to marry into someone more acceptable to you. Who were they, Melisande ... your guardians ? Did you have a guardian ?"

"Yes, I had a guardian."

"I wish you would trust me. Anything you told me would be entirely between ourselves."

"I do trust you. But I cannot tell you who my father was. I have determined that I shall tell no one. I know now that he is a good man, that he has done much for me and that it is solely because of his position that he cannot acknowledge me."

He was silent for a while; then he took her hand and said: "Dear Melisande, you must not think me impertinently curious."

"No, I do not. I too am curious. I want to know so much about the people I meet. I should like to hear more of you."

"But your background is so fascinating; mine is so ordinary. There is no mystery about my origins. I told you I was orphaned early, and I lived with an aunt and uncle who had their own family to consider. That is not very exciting ... neither to live nor to talk about."

"Life is always exciting," she said. "Everything we do goes on and on and affects what others do. Consider that. My father met my mother in a place like this ... just by chance, and because of that I sit here in such a place with you. In between, certain people did certain things, and each thing fits into a big picture, and because of each little thing, I am what I am."

He said: "Will you marry me, Melisande?"

She was astonished. She had known that she was attractive to him, but she had not wished to consider marriage, and because of that she had shut her mind to the idea.

Now she realized that she was not yet free from her nightmares. The idea of marriage frightened her. To think of it was to bring back memories of those men: Leon who had a guilty secret; Andrew Beddoes who had a mercenary motive, and Fermor who had not offered marriage at all.

She said: "I do not wish for marriage ... just yet. It is so hard to explain and seems so ungrateful. It is not that I am not fond of you. I am. I shall always remember your kindness at the whist party. But ... things have happened. It is not very long since I ran away from marriage. You see, I thought he was in love with me, and it was really the dowry my father was giving me. I could not endure that. It was so mercenary ... such hypocrisy. I do not wish to think of marriage for a long time."

"You will forgive my tactlessness?"

"But it is not tactlessness. It is kindness."

"May I ask you again?"

She smiled: "Will you?"

"I shall go on asking you until you consent. You will one day, won't you?"

"If I were sure of that, I should consent now. How can we be sure? So much has happened to me in such a short time, I think. There were years at the Convent when one day was very like another ... and then suddenly he came for me ... my father ... and everything was different; and since then, although it is not two years, there has been a lifetime of experience, it seems to me. That is why I am bewildered. Too much in too short a time, you understand?"

"And you want a breathing space. I understand perfectly. Melisande, depend on me, rely on me. When that dreadful old woman bullies you, you can walk straight out if you wish to— straight out to me."

"It is a comfort. I begin to feel very comfortable. But what is the time?"

He drew out his watch and as she looked at it she exclaimed in horror. "I shall have overstayed my time!"

"What does it matter?"

"I may be sent packing right away."

"That is no longer a tragedy."

"But I am still unsure."

"Come on then. We'll make our way back with all speed. When you agree to marry me I want it to be simply because that is what you wish. I want you to be sure."

"I see how well you understand me," she said, "and I am grateful."

He took her arm and they hurried through the gardens and out to the streets.

Listening to the clop-clop of the horse's hoofs as the hansom carried them to the Lavenders' house, Melisande felt that it had been one of the most important afternoons of her life.

She mounted the steps to the house with trepidation. She was an hour late. There would be recriminations. She must keep her temper; she must not be forced to a decision now. If she were to marry Thorold she must be quite clear that it was what she wanted.

She went to the sitting-room, framing an apology. She knocked.

A voice said: "Come in!" and uneasily she entered, for it was not Mrs. Lavender, but Mr. Lavender who had spoken.

He was sitting in an armchair when she entered, smoking a cigar. His quiff of yellow hair fell over his forehead and he was smiling. She felt a tremor of fear. She would have preferred stern looks.

He said: "Ah, Miss Martin. You are looking for Mrs. Lavender?"

"Yes," she said hesitating at the door.

"Come in," he said. "Come in."

She shut the door behind her and advanced two paces. Then she stood there waiting.

He took the big gold watch from his pocket and looked at it. "Why," he said, "you are late."

"I am sorry. I came to say that I was delayed."

"Oh? Delayed? I can understand how such a charming young lady as yourself might be delayed."

"I will go to Mrs. Lavender's bedroom. I expect she will be needing me."

"She's resting. There's no reason why she need know you are late. No need at all ... unless someone tells her."

"Oh ... I see."

"I wonder if you do?" he said. "But of course you do. You must have realized that I want to help you, to be your friend."

"That is good of you, but ..."

"But? You are too modest, Miss Martin. Too retiring. I have been wondering why you keep so aloof from me when you are prepared to be so very friendly with Thorold Randall."

"I have no wish to be other than friendly with anyone."

"Oh come now, deliberately misunderstanding! You're cleverer than that. I wish to be very friendly with you, Miss Martin. Very friendly indeed. That's why I want to help you ... on occasions like the present one. You ought to be grateful to me, you know."

She hated him. There was something in his demeanour which reminded her of Fermor. The peace of the afternoon was completely wrecked. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks as she said sharply: "You must do as you wish about telling Mrs. Lavender that I am late, Mr. Lavender."

"Does that mean that you are not a bit grateful for my kind suggestion?"

"I merely said that you must do as you please about telling her."

"She might decide to dismiss you."

"As you suggest, that is a matter for her to decide."

"It is very difficult, you know, to find posts without references. If you were wise you would not turn away from ... friends. ..."

He had risen and was leering at her. She stepped back.

"Now, my dear," he said, "if you will be pleasant to me I will be pleasant to you."

Her fingers were on the door handle. She turned it and said quickly: "I must go."

And she went out.

In her attic she locked the door and leaned against it.

Her afternoon was spoiled. Mr. Lavender with his leers and insinuations had reminded her of the unpleasantness of the world.

Perhaps Mr. Lavender had something to do with her decision. He had not told Mrs. Lavender of her lateness; often she met his eyes and he would seem conspiratorial, as though there was a secret understanding between them. She was afraid of Mr. Lavender. Sometimes in the night she would awaken with a start. Had she remembered to lock her door ? She would get out of bed and with immense relief confirm that she had done so. There was really no need to fear that she had not done so. Never did she enter her room without thinking of him, without making sure that she was safe from him.

His eyes followed her; they would seem to say: "We're going to be friends ... very special friends."

She was afraid of him as the nuns in the Convent had been afraid. She locked her door; they shut themselves away from the world.

During the day he worried her no more than a wasp would have done. If she kept out of his way, made sure that she was prepared against his stings, what trouble could there be! It was only at night that the uneasiness came, and it came in dreams.

Thorold was a frequent visitor at the house; he spent a good deal of time with Mr. Lavender. They went to the races together; sometimes they watched boxing matches; they were interested in all sport. Thorold said that he came to the house only to see her; it was a good thing, he said, that he knew how to interest Archibald Lavender. He was clever too with Mrs. Lavender, so that she was always ready to welcome him.

A few weeks after he had first asked Melisande to marry him he repeated his proposal.

Melisande realized suddenly how empty her life would be if she lost his friendship. Mrs. Chubb, in whom she had confided, thought it was the best thing that had happened to anyone since she herself met Mr. Chubb. Mr. and Mrs. Gunter who saw 'the way the wind was blowing' were equally sure that it was a good thing.

"The fact is," said Mrs. Gunter, "you're not cut out to work for other people, my dear. You ought to be a lady with a maid of your own. That's my view and Gunter's."

It was folly to hesitate. There was tension now between herself and Mr. Lavender. His smile was less pleasant; there was in it a hint of impatience. He was so arrogant, she guessed, that he could not believe that she really disliked him. Her fears of the man were increasing with each day.

And so, when Thorold again asked her to marry him, she accepted the proposal.

His delight was so intense that it was infectious.

As they walked through the Park she felt gay, certain that the future would be good, sure that she had done the right thing.

"We must marry soon," he said.

Only then was she a little uneasy. "I think we should wait a little while."

"But why?"

"To ... to make sure that it is the right thing."

"I know it is the right thing."

"Yes, of course it is, but ..."

They seemed to mock her, all the other men whom she had known. How can you be sure? they seemed to ask. Haven't you thought at other times that you were doing the right thing ? Fermor seemed to ask: "What do you want? To escape from the Lavenders? Think again, Melisande. I may be looking for you. I may be waiting for you."

Thorold said: "You don't trust me."

"Oh, but I do."

"It worries me. It alarms me. You don't, you know. You won't even tell me the name of your father."

"I have decided I must never tell that to anyone. You see, he cares so much that it should be kept secret."

"I understand how you feel. But to a man who is to be your husband ... it seems such a little thing to tell."

She said: "He is so proud. He wanted no one to know about my birth. I shall never forget when he discovered that the servants were talking."

"That was in the country-, wasn't it?"

"Yes ... and it was then that I had to go away. You see, he is a good man, a respectable man, and his one lapse must have caused him so much pain and anxiety."

"Perhaps it caused your mother even greater pain and anxiety?"

"Perhaps. But he looked after her as he looked after me. My future was taken care of."

"It must have cost him a good deal; and then he would have given you a dowry."

"He is a rich man."

"And you won't trust me with his name?"

"Please understand me. I want no one to know it through me. Please, Thorold, don't ask me."

He kissed her hand. "Everything shall be as you wish. Now and for ever."

Mrs. Lavender said: "Mr. Lavender and I are going into the country for a few days, Martin."

"Oh yes, Madam."

"I thought of taking you, but I have decided against it. I shall manage without you for two or three nights." Mrs. Lavender looked sharply at Melisande. "Of course I don't expect you to be idle while I'm away. There is my lace dress which needs mending; there is a tear in the skirt. You'll need to be very careful with that. You might go through all my clothes while I'm away. Make sure that everything is in order. And you can wash those nightgowns and petticoats that need it. Oh ... and make me a flower of those pieces of velvet. .. mauve and green. It will go with my mauve gown."

"Yes, Madam. But I should like to make a black rose for the mauve dress."

"A black one!"

"I think so, Madam."

"Hideous!" said Mrs. Lavender. "Who ever heard of a black rose?"

"Perhaps it is just because one does not hear of them that they seem attractive. Besides, I was thinking how well the black would look on the mauve."

Mrs. Lavender clicked her tongue; but after a while she said: "Well, make the black flower. We can try it."

Melisande felt happy as she packed Mrs. Lavender's bag.

"No need to pack for Mr. Lavender," said Mrs. Lavender. "He'll do that himself."

"Yes, Madam."

She was so happy, she could have sung, but the only songs which came to her mind were those which she had heard Fermor sing. "Go lovely rose" and "The Banks of Allan Water"—and most poignant of all "O, wert thou in the cauld blast."

A feeling of relief swept through the house when the Lavenders left.

"Two days of peace and quiet," said Mrs. Gunter. "That will be nice. Let's drink to the next two days in a glass of my ginger."

Sarah came down and they were very merry.

And that afternoon Thorold called for Melisande, and they walked in the Park together. He looked a little sad, a little melancholy.

"Is something wrong, Thorold?" she asked.

"No ... not if you love me."

"But I have said I will marry you."

"You told me about the young man your father wished you to marry, and how hurt you were because you realized your dowry had played a deciding factor. I have wondered whether, if you were in a happy home, your future assured, brothers and sisters and fond parents about you ... you would marry me?"

"Oh, Thorold," she said impulsively, "I am so sorry."

"Forget I said it. If I can be the means of rescuing you from what is uncongenial, I shall be only too glad to do so."

"But ... I am fond of you. I am sure of it."

"You don't trust me, Melisande."

"But I do. I do."

"Not completely. You won't even tell me the name of your father."

"Oh, Thorold, so it is that! I understand how you feel. It is a hateful feeling. I will tell you my father's name. Of course I will. There shall be no secrets between us. He is Sir Charles Trevenning of Trevenning in Cornwall. He is a man of importance in his own county, and known in London too. You understand why I did not want to tell. Not because I did not trust you, but because I knew that he so ardently wished our relationship to be kept a secret."

"I understand. Of course I understand. You shouldn't have told me, Melisande. I shouldn't have put it like that. But I am glad, glad because you trust me now. We are going to be happy, my darling. Everything will be all right for us now."

That was the end of peace; the end of her brief dream. And now she could wonder at her own folly, at her own naivety which had led her into the trap. There was no excuse this time. It was not her first glimpse of the world. The world was full of evil and she could not, it seemed, learn her lesson.

They met in the Park next day.

Did she notice the difference in him as soon as they met? Was that tenderness, which had warmed and comforted her, replaced by hardness, cupidity, meanness ... criminality?

"My dear," he said; and he took her hand and kissed it.

They walked arm in arm. She sensed that he was trying to tell her something.

"Melisande," he said at length, "I have a confession to make."

She was startled. She turned to him; he was smiling and she looked in vain for that gentleness which she had loved.

"I am in debt. Deeply in debt. In fact I'm in a bit of a mess."

"Oh, Thorold ... money?"

"Money, of course. It's that fool Lavender's fault. He has so many tips to give away ... so many 'certainties'. He is all right. He has a rich wife, and he knows how to get round her. Melisande, I'm afraid that if I don't settle up some of these debts I shall have to resign my commission."

"But surely it's not as bad as that."

"It's as bad as it can be."

"You have never mentioned these debts before."

"I didn't want to worry you. I was afraid you'd despise me. You see, life in the Brigade of Guards is expensive, and for a man with such a small income as I have ..." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose so ... if you bet on horses."

"One has to be in the swim, you know."

"I am sorry, Thorold."

"I knew you would be... . That's why I'm sure you'll help me."

"I... help? But I have no money. If I had, gladly would I help."

He smiled at her. "Why, my dear, you can help. There's your dowry. That'll settle everything and set us up nicely."

"My dowry! I don't understand."

"But your father was ready to give you a dowry before. He'll do so now."

"But ... I do not see him. I ... I could not accept. I ... It is so different."

"It is not different at all. He chose someone for you to marry, and there was a dowry waiting for you. Now you've made your own choice, but the dowry will still be forthcoming."

"I do not think so."

"But why not, Melisande? Be reasonable."

"So you, too, are eager to marry me because I might have a dowry!"

"My dear girl, how did I know your father was a rich man? You only told me yesterday that he is Sir Charles Trevenning."

"Oh, what a fool I was to tell you that!"

"Listen to me, please, Melisande. I love you. I wanted to marry you the moment I first set eyes on you. I knew there would be difficulties about money. They worried me considerably, so I put off telling you the position. I didn't want to worry you too. And then ... you tell me that you have a rich father who was ready to give you a dowry. Don't you see! It's like the answer to a prayer."

"How attractive that dowry is!"

"When I asked you to marry me I had no notion that there would be a dowry. You know that. I would be ready to marry you— as you must realize—if you hadn't a penny in the world. But ... since it is not the case ... I am delighted. Who wouldn't be—and say so if he were an honest man?"

"I do not wish to talk of this any more."

"Let us be calm. You do believe that if you were penniless I would marry you just the same?"

"I am penniless."

"You need not be when you have a father whose conscience is crying out to be soothed."

"I feel I have met you for the first time to-day."

"Now listen, Melisande."

"I wish to listen no more."

"You must listen to me. You are going to marry me."

"You are wrong. I am not going to marry you."

"You change your mind quickly."

"You have changed it for me."

"Melisande, I understand how you feel. That man hurt your feelings. You have been disillusioned, I know. I understand. But I love you. I want to take you away from that impossible woman, but for God's sake let us be reasonable. I'm in low water. A little money could put me right. Your father is wealthy. A thousand or so would mean nothing to him. He ought to give you an income. He owes it to you. Why shouldn't he, and why shouldn't we accept it?"

"Goodbye," she said firmly.

Now he was angry. "You are a fool, Melisande. An adorable fool, it's true, but nevertheless a fool. You have such crazy notions. He will be glad ... glad to do this."

"He will not be glad, and there shall be no question of his doing it. He shall never hear of it."

"My dear girl, don't you understand, he'll be relieved to hear of you. He's wondering what's happened to you."

"I despise you," she cried. "I see right through you. 'You don't trust me!' you said. 'Tell me his name.' And now, because I have been a fool, you know it... and you are threatening me ... and him."

"I? Threatening! My dear, you're becoming hysterical."

"I hate you. I hate all men. You are all evil ... every one of you. I wish I had stayed in the Convent. I wish I had never met any of you."

"My dear, you are attracting attention. I beg of you, speak more quietly. Now ... you are not looking at this clearly."

She allowed him to lead her to a seat and she sat down.

"I am looking at it clearly."

"But he owes it to you. He would, I am sure, be pleased to help you."

"I will not ask him for money."

"Think of our future, Melisande."

"You and I have no future together."

"You don't mean that. I love you and you love me. Now, listen. Meet me here in the Park to-morrow ... at this time ... at this spot. I am sure when you are calmer, when you have thought this out, you will see my point."

"I never shall. And I never want to see you again."

"Melisande, I beg of you, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable, and my reason tells me to despise you."

"But you and I are to marry. We are not rich and I have been foolish. You have a rich father ..."

"You will have to settle your affairs without my rich father."

"Now, Melisande, please ..."

"I shall never allow you to ask him for money."

There was a short silence, then he said slowly: "I could ask without your consent, you know."

She turned to look at him in astonishment. "You think he would give my dowry to a man whom I had decided not to marry!"

"No. But he might give the equivalent of the dowry to a man who knows that he has an illegitimate daughter."

She had turned pale. She stood up. She wanted to move away quickly, but her trembling legs would not allow her to do so.

"You ... would never do that!"

"Of course, Melisande, of course I would not." He stood up beside her and gripped her arm.

"But ... that is blackmail^

She wanted to throw him off, to run away, never to see his face again. But he was holding her fast.

She thought of Sir Charles at Trevenning receiving a threatening letter and thinking that she had had a hand in it. And she had! She had been foolish to trust this man with her father's name.

She was bewildered and frightened. She was as terrified of Thorold Randall as she was of Archibald Lavender. Here was another of those monsters to disturb her dreams.

Be calm! she admonished herself. This man is dangerous. He is worse than the hypocrite Andrew Beddoes was; he is more than the philanderer that Archibald Lavender is; he is a blackmailer as well. All men are liars; all men are cheats. Oh God, what have I done?

Thorold was now speaking in the gentle voice she knew so well.

"So you see, my darling, you are wrong to put ugly words to this. It is reasonable. It is natural. All fathers give their daughters dowries if they have the money. And think how useful yours will be to us! You meet me to-morrow and I will have the letter ready then. I will show it to you and you will copy it. Then we will send it. You shall sign it with loving assurances. And then ... you will see how friendly he will be, how ready to help."

She did not answer him.

He went on to talk of their future, of the little house they would have, of how happy she would be when he had rescued her from servitude with the Lavenders.

He left her at the door of the house.

"Goodbye, my love, until to-morrow. Do not forget ... the same place in the Park. Our seat, eh? And do not worry. I understand what a forthright soul you are. I know you did not mean all the hard things you said. I understand you ... and you understand now, don't you? Don't you, my love?"

"I understand," said Melisande.

What shall I do now? she asked herself. What can I do? Whose advice could she ask ? There was Mrs. Chubb. Now how could simple Mrs. Chubb deal with a situation like this? The Gunters? Sarah? How could they help ?

There was no one to whom she could go. She must act by herself. Between now and to-morrow she must find some means of preventing Thorold Randall from getting into touch with her father.

Perhaps she could appeal again to his sense of decency ? But had he any sense of decency ? She did not think so. She could hear the words he had spoken this afternoon; she could not forget them. Perhaps she could reply to his threats with threats of her own. How? What? There had been threats this afternoon, and there was one thing which stood out among all others: If she would not write to her father, he would. That would be blackmail... simple blackmail. She would not endure it. She must think of a way.

Thoughts chased each other round and round in her head. She was subdued before the Gunters and Sarah. She did not want them to ask questions. She would have to take meals with them in the basement room as they had arranged, while the Lavenders were away. She was wondering whether she could go to Cornwall, see Sir Charles, explain to him what had happened, and beg him to advise her.

Perhaps she would do that if she could not make Thorold see reason to-morrow afternoon.

But to-morrow she would reason with him. There would still be time. He would do nothing until after their meeting. That thought made her feel calmer. There was a short breathing space.

After supper, eaten in the basement room where her lack of appetite gave rise to the Gunters' concern, she went up to Mrs. Lavender's room to make the black velvet flower. She was glad she had something definite to do. She tried to give all her attention to the black velvet petals. It was growing dark, so she lighted the lamp and drew the curtains.

While she was intent on her work the door opened suddenly.

Without looking up, she said: "Oh, Sarah, I lighted the lamp. It was so dark I could scarcely see."

"It is getting dark," said Mr. Lavender.

She stood up in alarm. He was standing by the door, his hat and cane in his hand, and he was smiling at her.

"You look startled, my dear," he said; and he laid the hat and cane on the tab.

The throbbing pulse in her throat made it difficult for her to find words. She stammered: "Oh ... I had no idea that you would be back to-night. Mrs. Lavender ..."

"Has not come back to-night. I had business in town to attend to."

"Oh ... I see. I'll move these things."

"There's no need to be in such a hurry."

"You will be wanting ..."

"To have a little talk with you," he said blandly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lavender, but I have not the time. I must be getting ..."

"Oh now," he said, "you don't want to run away. There's no need, is there, with Mrs. Lavender away."

She felt the waves of hysteria rising. Another time, she thought, I should know how to act. But it is too soon after this other matter. It's too incongruous ... too bewildering. I am going to laugh ... or cry.

She heard herself beginning to laugh.

"That's better," he said. "I flatter myself I arranged this very neatly."

"I have no doubt you arranged it neatly," she said on a rising note of laughter. "I must leave you now."

"Oh no. You must not be so stand-offish. You have been standoffish too long."

"Have I?" she said. "Have I?"

"Yes, far too long. Oh, I understand. You're a nice girl ... a very nice girl. But everything is safe, you see. Mrs. Lavender is in the country."

"I shall soon be safe in my room ... and you in yours."

She saw the ugly light in his eyes a second before he turned swiftly and locked the door. He put the key in his pocket.

She said: "Unlock the door, Mr. Lavender."

"I certainly shall not," he said. "Not yet... at least."

"If you do not, I shall call for help."

"No one would hear. The Gunters and Sarah never would. They're right down in the basement."

"You must have gone mad, Mr. Lavender."

"Well, you have been somewhat maddening, you know."

"I am also strong," she said. "I can bite and kick as well as scream."

He took a step towards her. "I, too, am strong," he said. "Oh come, don't play at this game of reluctance. I know your sort."

"You do not, Mr. Lavender. But I know yours. I loathe you. I despise you. I shall tell Mrs. Lavender how you have behaved."

"She would never believe you."

"But she must know what you are." She was very frightened. He was coming towards her, slowly, stealthily. "Give me the key!" she cried hysterically. "Give me the key!"

He was no longer smiling. She could see the animal lust in his face. She could also see his determination, and she was afraid as she had never before been in the whole of her life. She took a step backward and gripped the table behind her, and as she did so, her fingers touched the drawer. She remembered the pearl-handled pistol. In half a second she had opened the drawer.

She held the pistol firmly.

"Now," she said, "you will stand back."

He gasped and stood still where he was. "Put that down, you little fool!" he cried. "It's loaded."

"I know it is."

"Put it down. Put it down."

"Give me the key."

"Put that down, I said."

"And I said, 'Give me the key.' If you don't, I will shoot you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I'll give you three seconds."

"By God," he said, "I believe you would. You look wild enough."

"I am wild enough. I am wild enough to kill men like you at this moment. Give me the key."

He brought it out of his pocket.

"Throw it. Here. I give you three seconds, remember."

He threw it, and she kept the pistol pointed at him while she picked it up.

Still covering him, she went to the door and cautiously opened it.

She ran up to the attic and, turning the key in the lock, leaned against the door, looking at the pistol in her hand.

How did she live through that night ? She did not know. Desperately, behind the locked door of the attic, she tried to make plans. She was quite certain that she must not spend another night in this house. She must get away somewhere ... anywhere.

But first she had to see Thorold. She had to prevent his blackmailing her father. That was the most important thing. He was the greater menace. Archibald Lavender was a lustful brute; she despised him and he terrified her; but Thorold Randall was a criminal, and moreover she had played into his hands. She was involved.

She took out the pearl-handled pistol. It was so small that it looked like a toy. What power! When she thought of how it had saved her, she murmured: "My friend!" And half laughing, half crying: "My dear little friend!"

She knew she could not sleep. She did not even undress. She lay on the bed, watching the door with the pistol in her hand.

She had never before lived through such a night.

But Archibald Lavender did not attempt to come to her room. He was afraid, Melisande knew, afraid of her determination and her dear little friend.

Desperately she planned. She must meet Thorold and do everything in her power to prevent his writing to her father. She believed she could do that. She could not believe that Thorold was, at heart, a wicked man. The man she had agreed to marry was kind and considerate; it was because of those very qualities that she had agreed to marry him. But he was in debt, in difficulties, and because of that he had lost his head.

She would not marry him now. That would be quite impossible; but she would not believe that he was a real criminal. His plans had been made on the spur of the moment. They were not the result of deliberate scheming. She feared and hated all men. The nuns were right. But she believed that some men were weak rather than wicked.

After she had seen him, after she had made him see reason, made him swear that he would not write to her father, what then?

She thought of Fenella, friendly and kind and, above all, tolerant. Perhaps she would go to Fenella and try to explain why she had run away.

This seemed her only course.

At last morning came. She slipped the pistol into the pocket of her dress and cautiously unlocked the door.

There was no sound in the upper part of the house.

She went down to breakfast in the basement room. She tried to act normally; she was most anxious that the Gunters and Sarah should not know how disturbed she was. She could not talk of her fears, and they would not be able to prevent themselves asking questions if they guessed something was wrong.

"He must have come home last night," Mrs. Gunter said, as Melisande sat down at the table. "Come in very quiet, he did. Rang the bell this morning and asked for his breakfast. Sarah said he seemed in a bit of a paddy. Quarrelled with her, I reckon, and come home in a huff."

"Oh!" said Melisande.

"She'll be home this evening, so he said. We ought to make the most of to-day, eh?"

"Oh yes," said Melisande.

It was difficult to eat, but she managed to force down some of the food.

After breakfast she returned to her room and got her things together. There was not very much. After she had seen Thorold she would have to come back for them, slip quietly upstairs and out again.

She touched the pistol in her pocket; she would not let that out of her possession until she felt herself to be safe from Archibald Lavender.

He had gone out, the Gunters told her. He said he would not be back until evening.

But he might come back unexpectedly, thought Melisande. She had seen more than desire in his eyes; she had seen vindictiveness, the desire for revenge.

The long morning crept by. There was the midday meal to be endured.

"My word," said Mrs. Gunter, "you've got a poor appetite."

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"That won't do, you know ... a growing girl like you. It's the thought of her coming back, is it?"

"It might be."

"Oh, you don't want to worry. You'll be all right. I reckon she's pleased with the work you do. Don't want to take too much notice of what she says. She couldn't say she was pleased, to save her life."

Melisande went to Mrs. Gunter and put her arms about her. "Oh, Mrs. Gunter," she said, "I shall always remember how kind you have been to me."

"Here! Here!" said Mrs. Gunter; and she thought: These foreigners! All up in the air—laughing one minute, crying the next. I don't know. You don't know where you are with 'em. She's nice though. I like her.

Melisande kissed Mrs. Gunter solemnly on each cheek.

"Well," said Mrs. Gunter. "Well! Well! You seem a bit upset, dear. Anyone would think you was going on a journey."

"It is just that I wish to say ... thank you ... and Mr. Gunter and Sarah who have made me so happy in this little room."

"Well, that is nice! We've liked having you here with us. We hope you'll be happy when you get married, and I'm sure you will, for a nicer gentleman there couldn't be, and you deserve him. That's what I said to Gunter: 'A nicer gentleman I never set eyes on, and Miss Martin deserves every bit of her good fortune!' "

"Perhaps we all deserve whatever we get in this life," said Melisande.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. There's some of us not so lucky."

"I must go," said Melisande. "I have much to do. I just wished you to know that you have made me happy in your room."

"Well, you're welcome," said Mrs. Gunter. "See you later, dear."

Melisande did not answer that. She went up to her room. Her few possessions were already in the bag which she had bought, ready to be picked up. She pushed the bag under her bed.

She put on her cloak and bonnet and went out of the house to her appointment with Thorold in Hyde Park.

He was there first. She saw him pacing up and down as she approached.

"Melisande ... how glad I am you've come!"

He seized both her hands; she withdrew them quickly.

"You thought I would break my promise?"

"You were a bit upset yesterday. Ah, I see you are feeling better to-day. You've thought about it, I know. You see the point."

"I see it all very clearly," she said. "Thorold, you are in difficulties and you are worried."

"That's so."

"And because of that you have thought of this thing. You were not serious yesterday. I know it."

"Now, look here, Melisande. You've been foolish. It's only right that your father should provide for you."

"And for you too?"

"Well, we're to be married. I'll be his son-in-law."

"You never shall!"

"I thought you were going to see sense."

"I do see sense. I see that, even after what you said to me yesterday, I am still a fool. I did not believe you could be as bad as you seemed."

"Oh, do stop this nonsense. Who's bad? Who's good? Was your father such an angel when he seduced that poor girl?"

"Stop it. What do you know of such things?"

"Don't be hysterical again, Melisande.. Let us sit down. Here is the letter I've drafted. I want you to copy it and send it to your father. Read it. It says you have met a man with whom you have fallen in love. You want to marry, and you are sure that he will help you now as he wished to do before."

She took the letter and without glancing at it tore it into pieces. She threw them over her shoulder and the breeze caught them and played with them. She stood up. She was aware of his face, ugly in anger.

"So that is all you have to say?"

"I shall never write to my father asking him for money," she said. "I shall never see you again after to-day. Goodbye."

He caught her by the arm and pulled her round to face him. His mouth was twitching, his eyes blazing. What a different man this was from the one she had thought she would marry!

"You are ... offensive to me," she said. "Release me at once."

"Do you think I shall let you go like this?"

"You have no alternative."

"Do you think this is the end of the matter?"

"It shall be the end," she said.

"You're a fool. You and I could live in comfort for the rest of our lives. He is a rich man ... a very rich man. I have looked into that. He could give us a regular allowance. We need do nothing but enjoy life. And why shouldn't he? He would, you can be sure.

He'd pay any amount rather than it should be known that he's not all that people think him."

"So," she said, "you are telling me that you are a blackmailer."

"Why shouldn't he pay for his sins?"

As she studied his face it seemed to her that he was all evil, and that he was symbolic of Man.

She said quietly: "You will never write to my father. You will never blackmail him."

"Don't be silly. If you won't come in ... well then, stay out. Do I need your help so much? You've told me all I want to know."

"No!" she cried. "Please ... please don't do this. Please do not."

"What! Throw away a chance like this? You're mad. You're crazy."

She felt dizzy. She was aware of the shouts of the children a long way off. "Oh God," she prayed, "help me. Help me to stop him. He must not do this."

And ther she remembered the pistol. Impulsive as she ever had been, she thought of nothing now but the need to save her father from this man's persecution. The pistol had saved her from Archibald Lavender. Could it not save her father from Thorold Randall?

She took it out.

"Swear," she said very quietly and very determinedly, "that you will not attempt to get into touch with my father."

"You idiot!" he cried. "What's that! Don't be a fool, Melisande."

"Swear!" she cried hysterically. "Swear! Swear!"

"Don't be a fool. What is that thing? Do you think to frighten me with a child's toy? Melisande, I love you. We'll be happy together, and we'll live comfortably all our lives. Your father will see to that. And if you won't... well, you see, don't you, that I can get along without you. But I'd rather you were with me, darling. I'd rather you were with me and would be sensible."

"Swear," she cried. "Swear."

He had laid his hand on her arm.

"Do you think I'm as muddled-headed as you? I'd never give up a chance like this ... never!"

She threw off his arm and raised the pistol. It was so easy because he was near.

There was a sharp crack as she pulled the trigger.

Thorold was lying on the ground, bleeding.

She stood there, still holding the pistol in her hand.

She heard voices; people were running towards her. Dazed and bewildered, she waited.