the fact that I was my mother's child. It delighted her so, poor soul, to see my quiet, level-headed ways. Whenever I had been particularly controlled and sensible, she would repeat, `Yes, yes! You are a thorough Neale; there is not one scrap of Strangeways in you.' I expected Dr Greatman to realise as much, and assure me that I had nothing to fear; that I was not the type; that some fortunate members of the family always escaped. I thought he would perhaps lay down certain rules, restrictions, cautions against over-excitement. Never, never for one moment did I expect this." Jean was silent. She had feared. Ever since receiving her friend's confidence, her thoughts had hovered round this one absorbing question. Would Vanna be justified in marrying? Now the greatest living authority had answered strongly in the negative, and there was no escaping his decree. She looked ahead, seeing her friend throughout the years, a charming girl, a more charming woman; later on losing her freshness and grace, and becoming faded and tired; later again, becoming old and infirm, the senses failing--and always alone, for ever alone. The slow tears welled to her eyes, a drop brimmed over and fell on her friend's hand. Vanna brushed it away with impatient fingers, straightened her back, and flung back her head. "Oh, don't cry--don't cry over me, Jean. We are poor things, we women, if we can't face the prospect of making our own lives. Put a man into my place. Would he pine? You know very well he would do nothing of the kind. A man never wants to marry until he meets the right woman, and even then he struggles before he succumbs. When he once loves it is different--he is all fire and impatience, but until that hour arrives he enjoys his liberty, pities the poor fellows who are handicapped with a wife and family, and privately determines to keep clear. Here am I-- twenty-three, comfortably off, strong, intelligent, fancy-free. Why can't I take a leaf out of his book and be content and happy? Why need I consider myself a martyr because I must live alone, rather than as the wife of some man unknown, who perhaps in even the ordinary course of events might have persistently evaded my path, or had the bad taste to prefer another woman when he _was_ found? It is not as if I were already in love." Jean drew her brows together in wistful inquiry. The doubt in her mind was so transparently expressed that Vanna referred to it as to a spoken question.