Left alone, Helen began to pack a suitcase. As she threw in coats, shoes, and frocks, tears streamed steadily down her cheeks. Mechanically, she powdered her nose, locked the studio, got out her car and drove to Lowndes Square where she learned that her father and mother were away for the week-end and her sister out to dinner. "I can easily get you something to eat, Miss Helen, and your room will be ready in a moment," said the parlourmaid pleasantly, accustomed to Helen's sudden arrivals and equally sudden departures. "I don't want any dinner, thanks. I'll have a hot bath and go straight to bed, and I'd like a bowl of bread and milk in bed, lots of sugar and no crusts." "Very well, Miss Helen." The maid disappeared with her case, as Helen went into the library to find a book before following her upstairs. She slept heavily for twelve hours and wakened to a mood of discouragement and lethargy. Life seemed meaningless. The thought of painting did not attract her, she had no particular engagements, there was nothing to do. Mr. and Mrs. Guest, returning in the evening, were pleased to find her in the library sitting with her hands idle in her lap, but her depression persisted and she answered her Mother's questions with curt monosyllables. "Yes, I'm all right thanks. No, nothing's wrong. Really, Mother, I'm all right. I know I look tired. I've been working very hard, but please just leave me alone." In the weeks that followed she was forced to repeat very often her plea to be left alone. Her family were used to the sight of Helen working, but Helen idle and empty-handed was so unusual that they made unceasing efforts to interest her in their varying occupations which she as unceasingly spurned. A month went past during which she had not lifted a brush and she was in her sitting-room one afternoon wondering dismally if she would ever again be caught by the desire to paint, when Lavinia was announced. Helen jumped to her feet. "Do come in, Lavinia. I'm nearly mad with mooning about doing nothing." "But haven't you been painting?" Lavinia asked a little maliciously. "I thought you'd given up Geoffrey so as to be able to paint." Helen spread out her hands. "I haven't done a thing," she said. "Not a single thing and what's more I don't know whether I ever will or not. Sit down and talk to me, Lavinia." "I can't," said Lavinia. "I'm on my way to Geoffrey now and I thought it just possible that you would like to come with me. You know he's been ill?' "I haven't heard a thing about him. Tell me, is he really ill? What's wrong with him? I'll come with you at once." "He's had influenza very badly. He was starting it that day you came to tea with me when Mother was there; he went home that night very seedy and he's really been pretty bad. He's much better now, but he's still in bed, and Mother's going to be out this afternoon so she rang me up to go and amuse him and I thought perhaps you'd come too."