Like a flash, he reviewed the morning. He had seen her at déjeuner, and she was light-hearted and gay chattering with Alain as if she had been a child herself. What could have happened since? The post! The letters came in at one o'clock, and he had not seen her since. She must have had bad news. Then he felt that he must make his presence known; she would not like him to see her like this, so he whistled, and in a second Adrienne had got to her feet. There was a seat a little farther down, and she made her way to this. Here he found her. It was impossible for him to ignore her trouble, as her swollen eyelids and tear-stained face could not be misunderstood. For a moment he said nothing, then he sat down beside her. "Little cousin, you are in trouble. Can I help you?" "Oh, why did you find me? I wanted to be alone." Adrienne's tone was desperate, but Guy was too anxious over her to be easily repulsed. "I am sorry," he said in his quiet level tone; "but I had a message for you and came out to find you. And I'm glad I came, for perhaps two may be better than one in the present circumstances." "Oh, you can't help me." Adrienne's self-possession and dignity had left her. Tears were rushing back to her eyes. Then pulling a letter out of her pocket, she handed it to him. "Read it. It's my own fault. I've stayed away from him; I've failed him in his loneliness. He waited and waited and waited for me, and then thought I did not want or care to come back to him. And oh, how hard I've tried to leave Aunt Cecily, and how impossible it has been for me to do so!" CHAPTER XVI LOVERS THIS was the letter that Adrienne had received that day. "MY DEAREST ADRIENNE,— "I am sitting down to break a bit of news to you. It may astonish you, it has astonished me myself, but it has just seemed to happen in some inexplicable fashion. I am going to marry Florence Winter. We have been old friends for many a long day, as you know. I think if it had not been for Tom, it might have happened ten years ago, but she did not like him, and he did not like her, and I would never have left him to set up a separate establishment. When I was up in town a short while ago, I saw a good bit of her, but I never intended anything more than to strengthen our friendship. "Then I went home, and the house was I confess it unbearably lonely. I felt that I could not urge you to come back when your aunt needed you so much, and, as time slipped on, I began to think that it might be a happier life for you over in France than with one old man in a small country village. Your aunt wrote saying she was going to Orleans, where she could give you a good time. This her illness has stopped for the present. I longed to come over and have a good talk with you, but you wrote, saying it was best not. And then I was restless awaiting your return, and I went up to town again, and the long and short of it is we settled it up.