“Give it a try, anyhow.” “I shall. I always found this a dead-alive place, and after the East it would be duller than ever if one didn’t know people.” “But you must have plenty of friends if your home is here.” “I was away at school before I got married, and anyhow, I never was much of a one to make friends. The people I wanted to know didn’t care particularly about me, and the ones that did want to make friends I wasn’t particularly keen on. You see, my people sent me to a school where there were a set of girls that thought themselves a great deal better than the tradesmen’s daughters, and that sort. I was with them, mostly, at school, but after I left it was different. I was supposed to be going to teach, and one girl wrote and asked if I’d like to come as governess to her little sister. When we were at school, she’d invited me to go and stay as a friend, and I’d spent the holidays there. So I knew what it was like. And I wasn’t going to go back there as the governess after being a visitor in the house, thank you.” “What did you do then?” “Nothing. Stayed at home and did the typing in the office. I hated Cross Loman.” “Did you like Egypt?” “Yes,” said Diamond Harter slowly. “I liked Egypt. I got all the dancing and the riding and the parties out there that I’d wanted and hadn’t been able to get down here. Have you ever been to the East?” “No.” “It’s all quite different, of course. Everyone knows everyone, in a way. There aren’t ‘county’ people and other cliques, like there are here. One got the chance of knowing people whom one wouldn’t even have met at home.” “Then,” said Captain Patch, rather doubtfully, “you’ll be glad to go back there again, I suppose?” “For some things. This is my door, Captain Patch. Thanks for bringing me back. I suppose you wouldn’t care to come in and see me one day?” “I’d like to very much,” said the red-haired young man, with his friendly smile. “Can’t I come and call on you?” “I’m always here. Come and have tea with me on Thursday.” “Yes, I will. Thank you very much.” Her face in the moonlight looked strangely softened. “Have you got a latchkey?” “Yes. Good-night.” Mrs. Harter held out her hand and he took it for an instant. It was a strong hand, unusually broad, and capable of transmitting in contact a faint, magnetic thrill. “Good-night,” she repeated as she went up the three shallow steps that led up to the neat, mean little door, with its liver-colored paint and tarnished brass. Captain Patch, on the pavement, watched the door open, saw the tall, square-shouldered figure for a moment against the light that hung in the narrow entrance, and then heard the slam of the door and saw, through the ground-glass fan-light, the light go out. Then he turned down the road again, softly whistling to himself “The Bluebells of Scotland.” * * * * *