Lord Rex rather faintly suggested that he should conduct Miss Bartrand to the Manoir. But Marjorie laughed at the idea of wanting an escort. ‘I would walk, alone, from the pier to Tintajeux, any dark midnight in December, and enjoy the walk. Many thanks, Lord Rex, but I prefer my own company. I--I---- She hesitated, stopped short. Geoffrey Arbuthnot had joined them. His patient was going on well, would be carried by his mates to the hospital as soon as the hospital doors were opened, some two hours hence. ‘And I am free,’ added Geff. ‘Just in time, I hope, Miss Bartrand, to walk out with you to Tintajeux?’ ‘Oh, no, Mr. Arbuthnot. Miss Bartrand would prefer her own company,’ cried a quartette of mischievous girls’ voices in chorus. But Marjorie had generally the courage of her opinions. Geff Arbuthnot got one glance from beneath a sweep of jetty lashes which told him he was not rejected. Away started the village cart, Annette urging the pony to a gallop over the rough Guernsey quays. In less than ten minutes’ time Dinah had bidden good-bye to Mrs. Verschoyle and Cassandra, and with nerveless touch was pushing back the garden gate of Miller’s Hotel. Mindful of Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot’s possible return, the servants had left unbolted an unconspicuous side-door by which Gaston usually came in when he was out late. Through this door Dinah entered. With weary steps she made her way to her sitting-room. Then, drawing up the blind, she looked round her, almost as one might look who, for the first time after a death, stands face to face with the familiar objects of his ruined life. Something had, for ever, died since she left this room. Gaston’s sketch-books, some of his modelling tools, his chalks, were scattered on a table. A white rose she gave him before they started, yesterday, lay withered on the window-seat. Dinah took the flower in her hand mechanically. Its indefinable, delicate aroma, Gaston’s favourite scent, unlocked a thousand poignant associations in the poor girl’s brain. Their days of courtship, their first married happiness, nay, her own perfect unswerving loyalty, seemed all to have become as falsehood to her. She had learnt her lesson over-well, had eaten of the tree of knowledge, would walk in Eden, at her lover’s side, no more. It was a moment of such blank surrender, such total sense of loss, as comes but once in a lifetime. Fortunately, the world’s average of hope remains constant, poor consolation though an acquaintance with the law may be to the hopeless. At this moment rapid steps approached along the pavement. There was the sound of hearty youthful laughter. Looking forth, the rose crushed with passion between her hands, Dinah beheld a young girl and a man pass the window. It was Marjorie and Geff, starting away, with buoyant pace, in the direction of Tintajeux. A prophecy of all the joint to-morrows of their lives shone brightly on the faces of both. CHAPTER XXXV A TRAITRESS