"With you age doesn't signify," she said. "You've had your years, and lived them, and each one has brought its past year's satisfaction; but with me there has been waste." She leant back against the cushions, with one arm flung out over the head of the sofa. "The years that the locusts have eaten!" ... she murmured... "It's when you have let the locusts eat into the precious years that you feel the bitterness of the loss of the golden hours. If I'd had my golden hours--if I'd enjoyed them, I shouldn't feel sorrowful at the coming of silver hairs. Youth that is wasted is like a day when the sunshine has been obscured by clouds. Towards evening the clouds pass, and the sun shines forth, perhaps, for a few minutes before it sets. But the clouds have spoilt the morning and rendered the tardy radiance ineffectual... The time has passed." "Your philosophy would be less painful if it were not so incontrovertible," Mrs Smythe returned quietly. "But if there has been waste, Zoe, isn't it adding to it to spend the hours mourning over those already gone? It would be far more sensible if you were to get out of that ridiculously becoming tea-gown and come out driving with me. I'm not surprised at your depression if you have spent the last few days dwelling on uncomfortable things." Mrs Lawless smiled faintly. "It's not so bad as that," she answered. "I'm a creature of moods. Had you called yesterday you would have found me quite cheerful." "Then I'm glad that my visit has fitted in with the heavier mood. Cheerfulness needs no distraction. Change your gown, Zoe, and come out with me." Mrs Lawless shook her head in response to her friend's inquiring look. Her fingers were playing absently with one of the heavy tassels of a sofa cushion, twisting and pulling at it, and entwining themselves with the silky strands. She looked down at the tassel pensively, and at the busy fingers fidgeting with it continually as though their purposeless occupation held an interest for her. "Thank you for suggesting it," she said slowly. "I would have been glad to go; but I am expecting Mr Lawless." Mrs Smythe stared at her. Amazement bereft her of her customary tact. "Expecting him! ... this afternoon?... Why, my dear, I passed him driving with--" She came to an abrupt halt, and gazed at her quiet companion with dismayed and apologetic eyes. "His mistress," Zoe finished for her, looking up. "You needn't mind saying it... I have accustomed myself to the idea. He may not come this afternoon, of course... But--I think I prefer to stay at home." Mrs Smythe was silent for a while. "I never was so disappointed in anyone in my life as I am in him," she remarked at length. Zoe's big eyes showed a faint surprise. "No!" she said. "Aren't you disappointed in him?" Mrs Smythe asked wonderingly.