“Chiefly of John and myself--of nothing very particular,” she replied. “I did n't stay long.” She saw the repression of Lady Blount's sigh of relief. Swiftly she drew her deductions. They were all concealing something from her, and the fact of their concealment proved it to be something shameful and abominable. Her bosom rose in revolt against the world. Lift but a corner of the fairest thing in life, and you found the ugliness below. She sat on the bed by the foot-rail, and rested her throbbing head on her hand. “Your little escapade has upset you, darling,” said Lady Blount, weakly; “but it was nothing very serious, after all. If John's furious when he hears of it, it 'll only be because he was not there to welcome you himself.” “I 'm not afraid of John being furious, Auntie,” said Stella. “It 's not that at all. You don't understand.” “I don't think I do, dear,” said poor Lady Blount. She sat down beside the girl and put a loving arm round her. “Tell me what it is.” But this was more than Stella could do. To speak would be to accuse and reproach, and she could not accuse or reproach any of her dear ones. Yet she needed the comfort like any other young and suffering soul. She surrendered to the elder woman's caress, feeling very weary. “Perhaps I 'm not as strong as I thought I was, Auntie,” she said. The confession stirred all the mothering instincts in Lady Blount. With physical things she could grapple. She tended her with her thin, deft hands and persuaded her to lie down. “My poor lamb, London is too much for you. Never mind. We 're going home to-morrow.” “I shall never want to leave home again,” said Stella. It was half-past one. Sir Oliver was lunching and spending the afternoon at his club. A tray was brought to Stella's bed, and Lady Blount pecked at a flustered woman's meal in the sitting-room. “What about John and the pictures, darling?” she asked when she rejoined Stella. It had been arranged for John to call for them at three o'clock and take them to the Royal Academy. “I don't think I feel equal to it,” said Stella, truly. She was not yet quite “like every one else.” Her sensitive nature also shrank from meeting John. Before him she would shrivel up with shame. “You go with him, Auntie; I 'll rest here and read.” On the stroke of three came John, who, having been detained on his business in town, had not gone home for luncheon. It was therefore from Lady Blount that he heard of Stella's adventure. He listened with his heavy frown, moving restlessly about the room, his hands in his pockets. “I would give a thousand pounds for it not to have happened,” said he. “It's done now. We must make the best of it.” “Unity was discreet? Are you sure?” “Quite sure.” He walked about for a while in silence. “Perhaps it's just as well Stella should know so much,” he conceded, “though I would rather she had learned it differently. I suppose she was somewhat upset?”