"But I am not afraid of being forgotten by the people I like--the really nice people, the pretty girls I have cultivated, and who make a goddess of me, the clever women, worldly but large-minded--all the people I like. I am not afraid of African competitors there. They will stick to me," said Grace, with emphasis. Her friend could see that she was troubled, though she affected to take the matter easily. There was trouble in both faces, as the friends sat opposite each other, with only the spindle-legged Louis Seize tea-table between them; but the trouble in Susan Rodney's face was graver than in Lady Perivale's. "Tell me about your winter," said Grace, after a pause, during which tea-cups had been refilled, and dainty cakelets offered and declined. "Oh, the usual dull mechanic round; plenty of pupils, mostly suburban; and one duchess, five and fifty, who thinks she has discovered a magnificent contralto voice of which she was unaware till quite lately, and desires me to develop it. We bawl the grand duet from Norma till we are both hoarse, and then my duchess makes me stop and lunch with her, and tells me her troubles." "What are they?" "I should have put it in the singular. When she talks of her troubles she means her husband." "Sue, you're trying to be vivacious; but there's something on your mind. If it's any bother of your own, do tell me, dear, and let me help you if I can." "My tender-hearted Grace! You always wanted to help people. I remember your coming to me with all your little pocket-money that dreadful morning at the Rectory when I had a wire to say my mother was dying, and had to rush back to town. And my dear Gracie thought I should be hard up, and wanted to help me. That's nearly ten years ago. Well, well! Such things live in one's memory. And your father, how kind, how courteous he always was to the holiday music-mistress, and what a happy time my summer holidays were in the dear old Rectory!" "And what a lucky girl I was to get such a teacher and such a dear friend for nothing!" "Do you call bed and board, lavender-scented linen, cream _à discrétion_, pony-cart, lawn tennis, luncheon parties, dinner at the Squire's, a dance at the market town--do you call that nothing? Well, the bargain suited us both, I think, and it was a pleasure to train one of the finest mezzo-sopranos I know. And now, Gracie," slowly, hesitatingly even, "what about your winter?" "Five months of books, music, and idleness. My lotus land was never lovelier. But for a January storm, that tore my roses and spoilt a Bougainvilliers that covers half the house, I should hardly have known it was winter." "And were you quite alone all the time? No visitors?"