"You don’t want to talk about it, I know. I don’t, either. I had to tell you, for I’m an old woman who has seen many seeming injustices in the world, and who will rebel against them to the end—and so I am sorry for you. Because I believe in happiness I should have arranged the world differently to the way in which God has arranged it. But because He is God, and has rolling centuries to match my little half-hour of knowledge, I fold my hands and trust His purposes, although I absolutely fail to see their meaning. Now let’s talk of something else. Have you seen Dora Farquharson lately?" "Only casually in the street," said Evelyn. "She seems rather to have avoided me of late." "Nor her husband?" asked Lady Wereminster, intent on fastening her cloak. Evelyn shook her head. "We live very far out, you know, and of late, even had the Farquharsons been disengaged, we’ve entertained so little that I’ve had no excuse for asking them." "If you had asked her, she’d have refused to come," said Lady Wereminster from the door. "She’s jealous. A woman who is common at heart takes common means of showing jealousy. But, mark my words, the time will come when Dora’s in trouble, and she’ll send for you then irrevocably as the one person she can trust." Fond as she was of Lady Wereminster, Evelyn saw her go with a sigh of relief. Unseen wounds hurt enough in any case, without being torn open daily by our friends.—How hot and sultry it was! One of the minor evils of what is called the artistic temperament is its dependence on the changes of the season. So far, Evelyn had loved spring and summer, had counted the days till April like a child awaiting some coveted adventure. She loved to see the orchards break into bloom, on the way to Kew; the first pink flush of almond blossom, the coming of little green shoots on barren trees had struck her with a new significance each year till now. The gradual coming of life was so tender, so wonderful, so mysterious.... But this year, the light and glow, the call of mating birds, the caress of the soft air, only served to deepen her sense of pain. Everything spoke of the joy and promise of life from which she stood aloof. Nature itself seemed to have taken up arms against her, and its array of happy changes found her lonely and sad.