"Tell me when you arrive there," said Miss Preston; "for I've turned my back like Christian in 'Pilgrim's Progress' on what I used to think were the best things in life. Whether I shall replace them with immortal gifts remains to be seen." They were silent for a time, then resumed conversation upon lighter topics. One liking they had in common, and that was attending the little Protestant Service on Sunday mornings. Adrienne loved the long walk in the early mornings. She met Miss Preston halfway. The Miss D'Aubignays and their sister Madame Passilles were very friendly, and always pressed them to come to the house and stay to lunch. Adrienne could never do this because of her aunt, but Miss Preston did it occasionally, and told Adrienne afterwards that Madame Passilles's talk and tracts drove her as far away from religion as Agatha's talk brought her near. "She's well-meaning and earnest, but has no sympathy or tact. She starts by impressing you that she is safely inside the Holy of Holies and you are outside—well outside—an outcast and a sinner. That raises my contradictious ire. I say things that I do not mean on purpose to annoy her. I mustn't go to lunch with them again. It is bad for one's temper. She has one, strange to say, and it's quite as hasty as mine." Adrienne tried to persuade her aunt to attend one of these services, but nothing would induce her to hear of it, and she saw that she was only irritating her by pursuing the subject. And then one morning about six weeks after Guy's departure, Adrienne received a wire. "Tom ill. Appendicitis. Want you home. Come at once.—DERRICK." It was a thunderbolt. Of course, when the Countess was told, there was a terrible scene. "You can't leave me. I won't be left alone. If he has an operation, he will be in a Nursing Home, and you can do no good. I dare say it is a false alarm. Everyone thinks he ought to have appendicitis in these days." "I must go, Aunt Cecily. I shall leave by this afternoon's train. Nothing would induce me to stay away from either of my uncles if they are ill. They have been like parents to me. Why don't you come with me? He is your brother. If you cannot be left alone, come with me." But this was not to be heard of. The Countess wept and cried, she coaxed, she implored, she entreated, but Adrienne seemed proof against her pleadings. And then, as she was hastily packing her clothes into her portmanteau, a sudden thought flashed into her mind. She ran off to her aunt's room. "Aunt Cecily, I am really going. I must. But would you like Bertha Preston as a visitor till I come back? She likes you, and you like her. I will ride off to her at once. I have time before déjeuner. I believe she would come to you." The Countess was working herself into a fit of hysterics, but she listened to this suggestion and was pleased to approve of it.