The man at my side could furnish me with full particulars of Ronald's old love-affair. Miss Lorimer and William Greystock were friends of long standing. Half maddened as I then was, I felt a wild desire to make my companion speak more plainly. On looking back to that day, I see that he was perfectly aware of all that was working in my heart, and was quietly waiting for his opportunity. Just then some of the others joined us, and I closed my lips and brooded over my grief in silence. The hours went on, and a breath of coolness stole over the great park as it drew near sunset. I gazed absently at the lovely golden lights that fell softly here and there, and longed to be alone in my room at Chapel Place. My desire for solitude increased every moment; I wanted to go away and hide myself, and leave Ronald in the society he loved best. At length the weary day came to an end; but Ida seemed resolved to keep her hold upon my husband to the very last. She had (or seemed to have) a willing captive; he approached me once with a question and a smile, and then went back quickly to her, driven off; I suppose, by my gloomy face. "I am taking care of Mrs. Hepburne, Ronald," said William Greystock, pleasantly; and Ronald answered lightly that he knew I was in good hands. Afterwards I never heard how it was that our home-bound train chanced to be unusually crowded that evening. We were all but too late when we reached the station, and there was a great deal of bustle and hurry in which I could only take a languid part. My head ached, and my limbs were so tired after the very moderate exertions of the afternoon that I could hardly drag myself along, and William Greystock's aid was really needed. I caught a parting glimpse of the fantastic hat with its tea roses, and saw that its wearer was still under Ronald's protection; and then (how, I know not), I found myself in a compartment of a first-class carriage with Greystock. We were among strangers; not one of our own party was with us; and of this I was almost glad. There was no necessity to keep up a conversation with Greystock. He saw how thoroughly tired I was, and understood my desire to be silent. Leaning back in a corner with closed eyes, I tried to forget myself and my miseries for a little while; and I think I had almost succeeded in sinking into oblivion when the train came to a stop. When I opened my eyes again, I found that all my fellow-passengers were getting out, and we two were left in the compartment alone. The twilight was now deepening fast; all the warm gold of the after-glow had long faded, and there was only a soft grey sky with silvery spaces here and there. To me it seemed a melancholy night, too still and calm for a heart as passionately troubled as mine. "Is the headache better?" asked William Greystock, gently. He was sitting in the opposite corner, and bent towards me as he spoke. "A little better," I answered, faintly.