The sweet eyes grew dim with a secret, bewildered kind of pain. Why had Gerald Rosenberg gone away without a word?... Yet, when she asked herself why not, she had no intelligible answer to give. Nothing had passed between himself and her, in words. Only she had been conscious of his unceasing, absorbed attention, given to herself, whenever they had been in company. There had been a tiny secret thread of mutual understanding--or so Virginia had thought. It now appeared that she was mistaken. There had been nothing between them. It was like brushing gossamer from before one's eyes. It had been there, but it was nothing. The first strong light of reason dispersed it. Something that had been very sweet, very poignant, had come to an end. While telling herself that it had all been her own fancy, inwardly she knew it was not so. There had been something. But it was only gossamer--just midsummer madness. Now that the doom had fallen, she would never see the Rosenbergs again. She would have to be a governess, if such a post could be obtained. Keenly she wondered what was passing between Mrs. Mynors and her old lover. Though her nature revolted from the idea, she yet caught herself hoping that a marriage between the two might come about. If this Mr. Gaunt--what an uncomfortable name!--was ready to take his former sweetheart to his home, he surely would offer asylum to her children, or if not, arrange that they could be together elsewhere. Ah! That would be the thing! She lost herself in visions of this little home with herself, Pansy and Tony in it--no mother to wait upon; for dearly as she loved the privilege of waiting upon her mother, Virginia had to own that it was mamma who made things difficult. She shut her neatly kept books with a sigh, and as she did so, glancing up, she saw to her surprise, that her mother was opening the garden gate. She must have caught a very early train home! Swiftly Virginia sprang up, hurried to the door, and admitted the returned traveller. One glance at the pretty, sulky face, the lids slightly puffed as with recent tears, told Virginia that the news was not good; and her heart sank to a degree so unexpectedly low that she girded at herself for a coward and a despicable person. "Oh, my dear, you have walked all this way alone in the heat! How tired you must be. We are going to have tea in the garden later on--come to your sitting-room; let me put you on the sofa and take off your shoes. You will soon feel better," she crooned over her mother, as she led her to the couch, tended her gently and lovingly, and--oh, crowning boon--asked no questions.