A newcomer to the group leant forward eagerly. Her characteristic was lack of self-restraint, which she acclaimed in herself as fearlessness. “But you’ve known the great realities--you’ve known passion,” she urged foolishly. “You could never write as you do, otherwise.” Adela gazed at her new disciple from under drooping eyelids. “I am not ashamed of it,” she said quietly. “I am proud of it.” The girl nodded with grotesque, unconscious vehemence. The two other women-friends of Adela who were present, exchanged a meaning look with one another. Each had heard Adela’s story before, had shown loyal pride and understanding. There was no need of further demonstration from them. Adela was looking at the girl. “There was one man in my life,” she said low and deeply. “There is never more than one--that counts. And a woman who has never loved, never been loved, never met her mate--has never lived.” The room was tensely silent. “It was more than ten years ago, and I have outlived the poignancy of it. I have never seen him since--I never shall. But I make no secret of having known fulfilment.” Her voice was low and rich with intense enjoyment of her own effect. “Even now, though, when all the storm and stress is long, long past--it’s odd, but the scent of a syringa in bloom can still hurt me. You see--I was swept right off my feet.” She paused before concluding with the words that she had unconsciously learnt by heart, so significantly did they always round off her retrospect. “I had waited for him all my life. He asked everything, and I gave--everything.” “Ah!” “You splendid woman!” Adela leant back again, her large eyes gazing abstractedly into the past, full of a brooding satisfaction. Her lips exhaled a sound that was barely audible. “Hal Willoughby!” * * * * * Time works wonders. THE GALLANT LITTLE LADY THE GALLANT LITTLE LADY I “I hope you are using all your influence to prevent the marriage?” said Clyde, in the impersonal tone that he always adopted when speaking to his wife of her only daughter. “Why, Charles? They’re madly in love.” “That is why,” said Sir Charles. “What do you mean?” Lady Clyde had not the slightest desire to know what her husband meant, and had already made up her mind that she disagreed with it root and branch, so she said, “What do you mean?” in a tone of indignation, and not one of enquiry, and gave him no time to answer. “Richard is a gentleman, he’s earning a very good salary, and he adores Rita. The only possible objection is their having to live in the East, but everyone says the Malay States are quite healthy, and she’s very strong, thank heaven. If she’s plucky enough to face it, I don’t see how _we_ can object.”