"One doesn't forget--pleasant things," she returned. "Besides, it is only a little over a year and a half since we met, isn't it?" "A long year and a half ago," he replied enigmatically. Pamela acquiesced with unusual gravity. His speech broke in upon her happy mood, disturbing the careless tenor of her thoughts. A long year and a half! ... Truly it had been a long year and a half for her. So much had happened in the time: her whole life was altered with the changing of the months. "It has been a long year and a half," she replied abstractedly, not thinking of the man at her side, nor of the interpretation he might put upon her words, upon the weary discontent of her tones: she thought only of the crowded events of the past eighteen months,--of the pain, the sickening disillusion, the constant humiliation. In certain circumstances a year and a half may seem a lifetime. He scrutinised her intently. There was something, after all, in Mrs Carruthers' report. The discontent in her voice, the sadness of her face, arrested his attention. Had it been merely discontent, it would have failed to move him particularly, but her look of sadness roused his deepest sympathy. He rebelled at the thought that any sorrow should touch, should perhaps spoil, her life. She lifted her glance to his swiftly, on her guard, he fancied, against himself. "I have had rather a dull time," she added, assuming a lighter manner. "Dulness is depressing," he allowed. "I have more experience of it than you, I expect. You've not been my way yet?" "No," she returned slowly. "I don't go from home much. You see, there are the children." "True!" he said, and kept the conversation in the safer channel into which she had directed it. "And how is my little friend?" "Oh, growing big--and naughty! I am beginning to think of schoolroom discipline for her." "Oh, lord!" he said. "That baby! Let her run wild for a bit longer." "You haven't to live with her," she said. "But I only mean a nursery governess. She is getting beyond the control of coloured nurses. I am hoping I shall get Blanche Maitland. She is so nice with children." "Blanche... Oh, I know," he said. His glance followed hers across the room to where the girl Mrs Carruthers was bent on his marrying was talking with their host. So Pamela's domestic arrangements were to clash with his. He smiled at the fancy. Blanche Maitland was a tall girl, with a noticeably good figure, a clear skin, and fine, dark, slumbrous eyes. Her face in repose was calm and unemotional and difficult to read; when she smiled it lighted wonderfully. She did not smile readily, but she looked really handsome and delightfully shy when surprised into laughter. She was laughing at the moment Dare looked at her: he did not immediately remove his gaze. "She is handsome," he observed. "Is she?" Pamela regarded the subject of their talk with renewed interest. "I never thought her that--but I suppose she is."