“Because I was sick of looking like a fright in black. It shows out every line in my face. And there’s no one here but Marcus.” “Who is your worst enemy,” helplessly. “And it isn’t decent, with Sir Gaspard not dead a month.” “Oh, bother! I told Cristiane my black one was torn,” lightly. “But Ismay, are you really quite well? I was terrified about you this morning!” “Terrified!” Ismay threw back her head with her old laugh of mockery. She knew quite well the depth of that terror. A horrible sight, the awe of death that lies in all of us; but if death had been there her mother would have dried her tears as useless, aging things; forgotten her daughter as soon as the earth had closed over her. “If you are going to be so brutal I shall go away,” Mrs. Trelane said angrily. “If you have no feelings you might give me credit for some.” “Don’t go.” Ismay caught her dress. “Come into the sitting-room. Tell me about this morning--what happened, who carried me home?” “Mr. Cylmer. Tell me, Ismay,” with quiet curiosity, “how well do you know him? He looked like death when he carried you. And how did he happen to be there?” “He just, happened, I suppose,” provokingly. “And I don’t suppose I was an engaging sight. What did Cristiane do?” “Had hysterics, I think. I wasn’t listening. I thought you were dead; so did Marcus.” “You didn’t let him touch me? “He went straight off for the doctor. It was that man Cylmer who got you out of the water.” “That man Cylmer!” The girl flushed with pride and joy. How she would thank him when she saw him, with the strong arm that had saved her close about her shoulders. “Marcus wants to see you. That’s why I came up,” Mrs. Trelane remarked. “Do be civil to him, Ismay, he tried to help you.” “Me? yes?” enigmatically, and her mother shivered with a suspicion of the girl’s knowledge, that died on the instant at her placid face. “See me?” Ismay amended. “Very well, send him up. No, don’t stay! I’ll be civil, you needn’t worry.” Her eyes alert, her cheek feverish, she watched him come in. “What do you want?” she inquired calmly, as he hesitated on the threshold. “To see for myself that you’re all right,” his cold sneering manner all gone. “Ought you to be up? But you look quite well, quite yourself.” “I am quite myself. What made you think I shouldn’t be?” she said dryly. “The shock, the wetting,” he hesitated. “Neither the shock nor the wetting have affected me,” she assured him. Could she suspect anything about that tea? he gave her a searching glance with narrowed eyes. But her face was as openly hostile as usual, with no underlying doubt. “If you’re going to stay, sit down,” she yawned laughingly. “You make me nervous fidgeting there by the door.”