“Yet Unity meant to make you happy and not miserable,” said Stella. “I know,” said he, “and that's the devil of it.” He paused for a moment, his hands thrust deep in his trousers' pockets, and his heel on the fender. At last he said: “It would be the best thing in the world for the dear old lady. And God knows it will be good for me. So if you 'll have us for a week or two, we 'll be glad to get away from here.” “I 'll ask Miss Lindon when she comes down.” And Miss Lindon, coming down soon afterwards with Lady Blount, received and accepted the invitation. Sir Oliver, summoned from the garden, expressed his approval. “My boy,” said he, “we've been perfectly wretched without you. Make him put in a long time with us, Miss Lindon. We three old folks will join forces.” Stella slipped out by the front door and stood by Herold, who was leaning over the gate. Of course he too must come to the Channel House. He smiled rather wearily and shook his head. “Not just now, dear,” said he. “I have a week's business to do in London, settling my autumn arrangements--I'm going into management, you know--and then I must run away for a bit--abroad somewhere, a little mild climbing in Switzerland, perhaps.” Stella's face fell. “Going abroad?” she echoed. “For how long?” “A month or so, if I can manage it. I want a rest rather badly.” “Of course you do; but I was hoping,” she faltered, “that you could find rest at Southcliff.” “It's good of you, dear,” said he, “to think of me. For Heaven knows how many years I've looked upon the Channel House as a second home; you can never realize what it has meant to me. But I need a complete change, a sort of medicine I must take, no matter how nasty it may be. Besides,” he added with a smile, “you will have John now.” “John is John, and you are you,” said Stella. There was a little pause. Then after a glance at his tired face, she said in a low voice: “You 're right, Walter; you must go away and get strong again. I spoke very selfishly. I 've not been accustomed to think much of other people.” “Stellamaris dear,” he said, “if I thought I could serve you by staying, I would stay. But there's nothing for me to do, is there? The--the what shall I say--the veil between John and you has been cut in twain, as it were, by a flaming sword. Perhaps Unity did it. But there's no veil now. The only thing that has to be done is to bring back the sunshine into John's life. That's for you to do, not for me.” She looked at him queerly. Her face was so white, her dress so black. The only gleam about her was in her eyes. “I know that,” she said. “But who is going to bring back the sunshine into your life?” He leaned against the wooden gate and gripped the top bar tight. What did she mean? Was she a woman or, after all, only the old fancied child of sea-foam and cloud?