That week, before they let her see people, Mr. Carteret lived in a world that had only its outward circumstances in the world where others lived. He made no attempt to explain it or to justify it or yet to leave it. Several of his friends noticed the change in him, and ascribed it to the vague abstraction of biliousness. It was a raw Sunday afternoon and he was standing before the fire in the Abbey library, when Miss Rivers came noiselessly, unexpectedly, in. Mrs. Ascott-Smith, who was playing piquet with the Major, started up in surprise. Miss Rivers had been ordered not to leave her room till the next day. “But I’m perfectly well,” said the girl; “I couldn’t stand it any longer. They wouldn’t so much as tell me the day of the month.” Then for the first time she saw Mr. Carteret. “Why, Carty!” she exclaimed. “How nice it is to see you!” “Thank you,” he answered. Their eyes met, and he felt his heart beating. As for Miss Rivers, she flushed, dropped her eyes, and turned to Mrs. Ascott-Smith. “My dear young lady,” said the Major, impressively, as he glanced through his cards, “it is highly imprudent of you to disobey the doctor. Always obey the doctor. I once knew a charming young lady--” “I hope I’m not rude,” she interrupted, “but I might as well die of concussion as die of being bored.” “But you had such a very bad toss, my dear,” said Mrs. Ascott-Smith. “What one doesn’t remember, doesn’t trouble one,” observed the girl. “In a sense it hasn’t happened.” She paused and then went on with a carelessness that was a little overdone: “What did happen, anyway? The usual things, I fancy? I suppose somebody picked me up and brought me home.” Mr. Carteret’s face was a mask. “But you remember that!” exclaimed Mrs. Ascott-Smith. “I don’t remember anything,” said Miss Rivers, “until one evening I woke up in bed and heard the rooks calling in the park.” “My dear,” said Mrs. Ascott-Smith, “you said good-by to him in the hallway, and thanked him, and then you walked up-stairs with a footman at your elbow.” “That is very strange,” said Miss Rivers. “I _don’t_ remember. Who was it that I said good-by to? Whom did I thank?” Mr. Carteret walked toward the window as if he were watching the pheasant that was strutting across the lawn. Mrs. Ascott-Smith folded her cards in her hand and looked at the girl in amazement. “Mr. Carteret found you in a field,” she said, “not far from Crumpelow Hill and brought you home. You said good-by to him.” At the mention of Mr. Carteret’s name the girl’s hand felt for the back of a chair, as if to steady herself. Then, as the color rushed into her face, aware of it, she stepped back into the shadow. Mrs. Ascott-Smith continued to gaze. Presently Miss Rivers turned to Mr. Carteret. “This is a surprise to me,” she said in a voice like ice. “How much I am in your debt, you better than any one can understand.”