He sauntered off to the smoking room to join Philip. When Philip came into the drawing room half an hour later in search of a book, he found Nellie sitting before the fire. He took his stand on the hearthrug, and looked steadily down on her. "Once upon a time," he said, "there was a very beautiful bird who, as it chanced, grew up with a lot of crows. For a long while he liked the crows, and the crows liked him--very much, some of them. Both he and the crows were pleased when the eagles and all the swell birds admired him, and said nice things about him, and wanted to know him--and the crows who liked him most were most pleased. Presently he did come to know the eagles and the other swell birds, and he liked them very much, and he began to get a little tired of the old crows, and by and by he left their company a good deal. He was a polite bird and a kind bird, and never told them that he didn't want them any more. But they saw he didn't." There was a little sob from the armchair. "Whereupon some of them broke their hearts, and others--didn't. The others were wisest, Nellie." He paused, gazing down at the distressful little heap of crumpled drapery and roughened gleaming hair. "Much wisest. He was not a bad bird as birds go--but not a bird to break one's heart about, Nellie: what bird is?" There was another sob. Philip looked despairingly at the ceiling and exclaimed under his breath: "I wish to God she wouldn't cry!" He took his book from the mantelpiece where he had laid it and moved toward the door. But he came back again, unable to leave her like that, and walked restlessly about the room, stopping every now and then to stand over her, and wonder what he could do. Presently he took a feverish little hand in his, and pressed it as it lay limp there. "The old crows stood by one another, Nellie," he said, and he thought he felt a sudden grip of his hand, coming and timidly in an instant going. It seemed to comfort her to hold his hand. The sobs ceased, and presently she looked up and said, with a smile: "I always used to cry at going back to school." "Going back to work," said Philip, "is one of the few things in the world really worth crying about." "Yes, isn't it?" she said, unblushingly availing herself of the shelter of his affected cynicism. She was afraid he might go on talking about crows, a topic which had been all very well, and even a little comforting, when she was hidden among the cushions, but would not do now. "And London is so horrid in winter," she continued. "Are you going back soon?" "Oh, I shall wait a little and look after Dale." "Dale never tells one what is happening." "I'll keep you posted, in case there's a revolution in Denborough, or anything of that sort." A step was heard outside. With a sudden bound Nellie reached the piano, sat down, and began to play a lively air. Dale came in, looking suspiciously at the pair. "I thought you'd gone to bed, Nellie."