Margery drew back in her seat as they passed; it was a moment of bitter agony. She had thought herself schooled to meet sorrow, that she was able to be firm, that she had cast out all love and despair from her heart, and filled it with a desire for utter forgetfulness. Now she saw herself in her weakness. The very sight of Vane Charteris brought back the humiliation she had suffered, while the sight of Stuart, the man who had deceived her, insulted her, wrecked her life at its very beginning, brought back the tumultuous joy of that evening in the Weald Wood, the never-ending sorrow of her loss. Ah, she might be as brave as she would, away, but a glimpse of his face had broken down all the barriers that pride had been setting up during these past weeks, and left her as weak as before! Turning to speak to her, Lord Court saw her pallor and look of pain. “Something is troubling her,” he thought. “She is too young, too fair to look so distressed.” Ignoring her apparent faintness, he gave his orders to the footman, and they were driven home. Margery all that evening was quiet, almost depressed. She knew she might have remained in her own room, had she so wished, but she shrank from being left alone with her thoughts, from the confession of her own weakness; and she sat with Lady Enid, who, full of the pleasure of her drive, chatted and laughed gayly, not noticing her friend’s changed manner. But, though it escaped her, it was quickly detected by her brother, and the pale face of the young girl, the unspeakable depth of sadness in her eyes, touched him with deep sympathy. He came easily and gracefully to her rescue. He took the book from her hand when Lady Enid asked her to read, with a playful remark as to Miss Daw’s needlework progressing slowly, and he alone saw the slender figure leaning back wearily on the wide window-ledge, her work forgotten in her thoughts. He exerted himself to chat to his sister, and then, knowing that her evening was never complete without music, seated himself at the piano, and filled the room with the melody of a rich baritone voice. Margery listened a while, then the sighing sadness of the music proved too much for her, and, stooping to kiss Lady Enid, she retired to her room. The night hours passed slowly and heavily; she could not sleep. Her mind was haunted by the vision of two forms with the radiance of a great happiness in their eyes. Was London, then, so small that she must be tortured by their faces wherever she went? And her secret--would not that be discovered? They had not seen her to-day, but who could tell whether she might not meet them again? She felt low-spirited and disheartened for a time, then grew gradually easier in her mind. In a week, perhaps, they would leave London, and down at Court Manor she would have peace, if not happiness. Comforted by this thought, she fell asleep just as the gray dawn was breaking, her troubles forgotten for the time in dreams.