"If for any unexpected reason you should be leaving Norton during the next three or four weeks, will you let me know? A line to my club will always be forwarded. If there were any uncertainty about seeing you again, I--" his voice lost its level tone, and became husky and disconnected. "These visits don't matter.--I could put them off.--I am _making_ myself go, because..." His fingers tightened over hers in involuntary appeal, "Cornelia! I wonder if you understand what is in my mind?" She looked into his kindled face with serious, unwavering eyes. For a moment it appeared as if she had some difficulty in managing her voice, but when she spoke it was calm and self-possessed as ever. "I understand that you've been a real true friend to me, Captain Guest, and I'm grateful for all the good times we've had together... That's all we need worry about to-day. Elma is waiting! I mustn't keep her longer. ... Good-bye again! I wish you a real pleasant time!" She drew her hand from his, gently enough, yet with a determination which could not be opposed. In her voice there was the same note of finality; the composure of her pale, fixed look checked the words on Guest's lips, and left him chilled and wondering. "For three weeks, then!" he murmured softly, but no echoing assurance came in reply. Cornelia carried the all-important message to Elma in her den, cheered her with affectionate prophecies, and hurried back to the shelter of her own bedroom. Safe behind locked doors she stood before the mirror on her dressing-table, staring at her own reflection with the implacable air of a judge regarding a prisoner at the bar. The slight figure was held proudly erect, the lips set in a straight, hard line, but the eyes--poor tell-tale woman's eyes!--the eyes wavered, and on the white cheeks flamed two patches of rosy red. Cornelia turned on her heel, and, crossing the room to her writing-table, tore open a letter which lay there already addressed to her father in America. It was a long, cheerfully-written epistle, containing constant references to his coming, and to the good time which they were to enjoy together. With deliberate fingers she tore it in pieces and dropped the fragments into the waste-paper basket. The missive, which was written in its stead was short, and to the point-- "My old Poppar!--This is just a business note that has got to be attended to in a hurry. Well-brought-up-parents do what they're told, and ask no questions. There are breakers ahead over here. They don't concern Aunt Soph; I've broken the back of that worry, and we get along a treat. Heart trouble, daddy! Symptoms unfavourable, and ultimate collapse preventable only by speedy change of scene.