Peter was conscious that Clare was now as silent with her mother as she was with him. He perceived that Mrs. Rossiter was disturbed at Clare's reticence. He fancied that he sometimes interrupted little conversations between the mother and the daughter the intention of which was, on Mrs. Rossiter's part at any rate, that “Clare should tell her something.” There was no doubt at all, that Mrs. Rossiter was anxious. Even--although this seemed impossible--she appeared to be ready to accept Peter as a friend and ally now--now after these many weeks of hostility. Surely women are strange creatures. In any case, one may observe the yellow brooch agitated now and ill at ease. Very soon, too, Cards came to make his farewells--he was going to Paris for the whole of May. “What! Won't you be back for the beginning of the Season?” cried Peter astonished. “No,” Cards answered, laughing. “For once the Season can commence without me.” He was especially affectionate but seemed anxious to be gone. His dark eyes avoided Peter's gaze. He didn't look well--a little anxious: and Cards was generally the soul of light-hearted carelessness. What a splendid fellow he was! Peter looked him up and down taking that same delight that he had always taken in his distinction, his good looks, his ease. “He ought to have been born king of somewhere,” Peter used to think, “he ought really--no wonder people spoil him.” “There's another thing,” Peter said, “you're forgetting Clare's birthday next week. She'll be dreadfully disappointed at your not being here for it.” “I'll have to remember it from Paris,” Cards said. “Well--it's an awful pity that you're going for a whole month. I don't know what we shall do without you. And you cheer Clare up--she's rather depressed just now. Thinks of the kid a bit, I expect.” “Well, I'll write,” said Cards, and was gone. II Peter received at this time a letter that showed him that he had, at any rate, one friend, in the world who believed in him. It was from James Maradick and it was strangely encouraging--now at this period of yawning pits from whose blackness he so resolutely turned away.