Aylmer worshipped these two women: his dead mother and the living woman whom he had never given up entirely. How unlike were both the types to Dulcie Clay, with her waved Madonna hair, dark skin, large, clear blue eyes, softened by eyelashes of extraordinary length. Her chin was very small, her mouth fine, rather thin; she had a pathetic expression; one could imagine her attending, helping, nursing, holding a child in her arms, but not his intellectual equal, guiding and directing like his mother; and without the social brilliance and charm of Edith. * * * * * Seeing him looking at her with a long, observant look, Dulcie became nervous and trembled slightly. She waited for him to speak. 'Come here, Miss Clay. I want to speak to you.' Instantly she sat down by him. 'I wanted to say--you've been most awfully kind to me.' Dulcie murmured something. 'I'm nearly well now--aren't I?' 'Dr Wood says you can go out driving next week.' 'Yes; but I don't mean that. I mean, I'm well in myself?' He spoke quickly, almost impatiently. 'The doctor says you're still suffering from nervous shock;' she answered in a toneless voice, professionally. 'Still, very soon I shan't need any attendance that a valet or a housekeeper couldn't give me, shall I?' 'No, I suppose not.' 'Well, my dear Miss Clay--of course, I shall hate you to go,' he said politely, 'but don't you think we ought to be thinking--' He stopped. She answered: 'Of course I'll go whenever you and Dr Wood think it right.' 'You see,' he went on, 'I know I shall need a housekeeper, especially when Teddy comes back. He's coming back on leave next week'--Aylmer glanced at the telegram in his hand--'and, well--' 'You don't think I could--' 'Of course you would make a splendid housekeeper,' he laughed. 'You are already, but--' She didn't wish to make him uncomfortable. Evidently he was thinking what she knew herself. But she was so reluctant to go. 'Don't you think I could remain here for a little while?' she said modestly. 'To do the housekeeping and be useful? You see, I've nowhere to go really.' 'But, my dear girl, excuse me, don't you see you're rather too--young. It would be selfish of me to let you.' He wished to say that it would be compromising, but a certain consciousness prevented his saying it. He felt he would be ridiculous if he put it into words. 'Just as you like. How soon do you think I ought to go?' Though she tried not to show it, there was a look almost of despair in her face. Her eyes looked startled, as if trying not to shed tears. He was very sorry for her, but tried to hide it by a cool and impatient manner. 'Well, shall we say in about a fortnight?' 'Certainly.' She looked down. 'I shall miss you awfully,' he said, speaking more quickly than usual to get it over. She gave a very small smile. 'Er--and then may I ask what you're thinking of doing next?'