Rose laughed. “When is Mr. Archie Carew coming again?” “Whenever I like,” said Diana, a little self-consciously. “Ah!” at the sound of a ring, “there’s Cis! She’ll be so glad you’re here.” “Rose has come,” she announced before rushing into her bedroom, where she first looked into the glass with some anxiety, then rearranged the curls on her forehead, and subsequently, for no better reason than that she felt excited and not altogether unhappy, burst into tears. Diana was not given to emotional display, so, after a moment’s indulgence in a weakness she despised, she bathed her eyes with scornful roughness, powdered them severely, and sat down to ask Mr. Carew to lunch the following day. * * * * * In the meantime Rose and Cecily had met. Cecily’s first question was for Robert. It was asked with anxious eyes, and Rose felt enormously relieved. She had not after all done wrong in assuming responsibility. “I haven’t seen him since the day he came down to the Cottage,” she returned, “when, as I tell you, he was looking ill enough--even to please me. I sent him to play golf at Aldeburgh, but he may be back any day. And you, Cis?” She inspected her friend critically. Cecily looked very pretty, very dainty, but frailer than when she went away. “Oh,” she said, “I’m all right. It seems--odd to be”--she hesitated a moment, and then went on quietly--“home again.” She looked round the room with a half-humorous smile. “How angry I was the last time I stood here,” she said. “And now _that_ doesn’t matter either.” Rose looked troubled. “Cecily,” she said, doubtfully, “you don’t regret this? I haven’t done wrong?” “Regret?” repeated Cecily, slowly. “No. It was inevitable. I couldn’t help myself.” She paused a moment. “There are certain things I can’t tell even _you_. But when your letter came, I thought I had decided to take a great step--to alter my whole life. Then your letter came, and I knew I had been absurd. There was no question about it--if Robert wanted me. He _does_ want me, Rose?” “I wish you had seen him.” “Then, don’t you see, that settles it? There are some things one can’t argue about. I think,” she added, slowly, “one doesn’t argue about _any_ of the important things in life. It’s strange, but when you’ve lived with some one--some one you _have_ once loved--above everything,”--her voice trembled a little,--“you grow bound to them with thousands and thousands of little chains which seem as light as air and are really strong as steel. So you see you don’t argue. It’s foolish, when you’re bound and know you can’t get away without tearing up your whole nature by its roots.” There was a silence. “I knew you would come to that,” said Rose at last in a quiet voice. “I was waiting for it. But you’re not unhappy, Cis?” she added, wistfully.