Somewhat confused, Stella smiled. “I am well now, like other people, so that's perhaps why I look better.” “When I heard of it, I cried with joy.” “You, my dear? Why?” “I 'd been thinking of you all the time--all the time.” And Stella had never given a thought to Unity, though dramatic incidents at the Channel House had not been so frequent that the sight of Unity had not, brought back to her mind the circumstances of the episode. Stay, had she remembered all the circumstances? “My dear,” she said, moved by the girl's almost passionate sincerity, “I remember you well. I wanted you so much to come back and talk to me, and I asked for you; but they told me that you went away that afternoon. What were you doing at the Channel House?” “I had been ill, and my guardian asked her ladyship to let me stay there for a bit.” “But they told me,” cried Stella, the missing circumstance coming in a flash, “that you were a village girl who had been brought in for a day's sewing.” Unity flushed brick-red, realizing her indiscretion. She knew well enough now why she had been forbidden the sea-chamber. “I was a noisy, horrid, badly-brought-up child,” she said, “and they were afraid I should worry you. That was why,” she said, with a slight air of defiance. Stella was not convinced; the story lacked the ring of truth that characterized Unity's other statements. She felt that for some unknown reason they had lied to her, and that in order to bear them out Unity was lying. Her loyalty and delicacy forbade her questioning Unity further. “If you were horrid, you would n't have remembered me all this time,” she said, with a smile. “That 's just how you looked when I called you 'my lady,' “ said Unity. “How do you think one could forget you? Besides, Mr. Herold is always talking about you.” Stella opened her eyes. “Do you know Mr. Herold, too?” “Of course. He's my guardian's dearest friend.” Stella's heart sank lower. Her Great High Favourite, too, was in this conspiracy of concealment. “Does--does your guardian ever speak of me?” “Why should he?” asked Unity. The queer retort puzzled Stella. The other, seeing the implied question in her glance, continued: “I should n't dare to ask him. He's too great and wonderful.” Again the transfiguring light swept over her coarse features. “It 's beautiful of him to let me do things for him.” “What do you do?” “I look after his clothes, mend and darn and buy things for him, and I dust his books and see that he has what he likes to eat and, oh, hundreds of things--just so that he sha'n't have any worry at all.” A new pain began to creep round Stella's heart, one she had never felt before, one that frightened her. “Tell me some more,” she said. And Unity, her tongue loosened as it was with no one else in the world save Walter Herold, talked of the trivial round of her days and the Olympian majesty of John Risca. “You must love him very much,” said Stella.