How much had opened to her with Delia! _Pleasure_, for the first time; the sheer pleasure of travel, society, tropical beauty; the strangeness also of finding herself adored, of feeling that young loveliness, that young intelligence, all yielding softness in her own strong hands-- Well, that was done;--practically done. She cheated herself with no vain hopes. The process which had begun in Delia would go forward. One more defeat to admit and forget. One more disaster to turn one's back upon. And no disabling lamentations! Her eyes cleared, her mouth stiffened. She went quietly back to her packing. "Gertrude! What _are_ you doing?" The voice was Delia's. She stood on the threshold of Gertrude's den, looking with amazement, at the littered room and the packing-cases. "I find I must go up at once--They want help at the office." Gertrude, who was writing a letter, delivered the information over her shoulder. "But the flat won't be ready!" "Never mind. I can go to a hotel for a few days." A cloud dropped over the radiance of Delia's face, fresh from the sun and frost outside. "I can't bear your going alone!" "Oh, you'll come later," said Gertrude indifferently. "Did you--did you--have such urgent letters this morning?" "Well--you know things _are_ urgent! But then, you see, you have made up your mind to stay with Weston!" A slight mocking look accompanied the words. "Yes--I must stay with Weston," said Delia, slowly, and then perceiving that the typist showed no signs of leaving them together, and that confidential talk was therefore impossible, she reluctantly went away. Weston that morning was in much pain, and Delia sat beside her, learning by some new and developing instinct how to soothe her. The huntress of the Tyrolese woods had few caressing ways, and pain had always been horrible to her; a thing to be shunned, even by the spectator, lest it should weaken the wild natural energies. But Weston was very dear to her, and the maid's suffering stirred deep slumbering powers in the girl's nature. She watched the trained Nurse at her work, and copied her anxiously. And all the time she was thinking, thinking, now of Gertrude, now of her letter to Winnington. Gertrude was vexed with her, thought her a poor creature--that was plain. "But in a fortnight, I'll go to her,--and they'll see!--" thought the girl's wrestling mind. "And before that, I shall send her money. I can't help what she thinks. I'm not false!--I'm not giving in! But I must have this fortnight,--just this fortnight;--for Weston's sake, and--"