In one respect her circumstances were happier than her lover's; for while Piers's interest in business was of the perfunctory order of the already rich man, her own work was a continual delight. From time to time she visited a patient, but by far the greater number came to her to be housed and tended. They were a pathetic crowd; middle-aged and elderly women of gentle birth, worn out with the struggle of life, shrinking with terror from bodily illness, not because of the suffering involved, but from the fear of loss of employment and subsequent want which it involved. To be nursed, housed, and fed free of charge was a godsend indeed, and Jean's prophecy of ingratitude was rarely fulfilled. Sometimes, indeed, Vanna felt that ingratitude would have been easier to bear than the trembling blessings called down on her head by those poor souls for whom perforce she could do so little. She grew to dread the last few days of a visit, to shrink afore-hand from the pitiful glances which the departing guest would cast around the pretty, cosy rooms, as if storing up memories to brighten barren days. Her charity had the sting of all such work, the inability to do more; but in it she found interest and occupation, and a continual object-lesson. These poor waifs and strays, who were thankful for a few weeks' haven, would think themselves rich beyond measure if they owned one half the blessings she herself possessed. Ought she not to be grateful too? On this autumn afternoon Jean had an exciting piece of news to tell to her visitors. "Guess who is engaged! Some one you know--know very well: an intimate friend." "Fine or superfine?" "Both, of course; but you know her best. A very old friend. Near here--" "Don't tell, Jean; don't be in such a hurry. Let them guess," cried Robert, laughing; but already Vanna was gasping in incredulous tones: "_Not_ Edith Morton!" "Yes! Yes!" Jean clapped her hands with her old childlike abandon. "Isn't it lovely? Aren't you pleased? She came round last night to tell me. To Mr Mortimer. She has seen a lot of him at their literary society. He is a clever man; every one speaks highly of him, and he is rich. It's all as charming as possible, and most suitable." Mr Mortimer! Vanna knitted her brows, recalling a grave, middle-aged figure, and striving to imagine him in the new role of Edith Morton's lover. Edith had sailed for Canada shortly after Jean's marriage to pay a visit to a married sister, and had returned at the end of two years, apparently heart-whole; but Vanna knew that her life had been empty of interest, and feared lest the attraction of a home of her own and a definite place in the world might have induced her to give her promise without love. "Mr Mortimer! He is a fine man; I like him--but for Edith? He seems so old, so settled down. I never dreamt of his getting engaged."