“Unhappy?” she echoed. “No. When one has learned at last that life is a constant scraping of the gilt, and being thankful for the gingerbread, one is not unhappy. I have my friends.” She touched Rose’s hand. “I have my work. There are beautiful things in the world--and I have time for them now. ‘Sun, moon, and stars, brother,’” she quoted, smiling--“‘all sweet things.’ No, I’m not unhappy, except----” She broke off abruptly. Rose did not speak, but she looked an interrogation. “Dick is coming this afternoon--to say good-bye. He’s going away.” Mrs. Summers raised her head. “Really away?” “To Central Africa--if that’s far enough,” returned her friend, with a curious inflection in her voice. She got up, and replaced some Roman hyacinths which had fallen from a glass on a table near the window. “I’m--I’m sorry he’s coming,” she added, speaking with her back to Rose. “Why? You think----?” “We’ve said good-bye. I met him in Rome.” She felt rather than saw Rose’s start of reproachful amazement. “Don’t say anything. Don’t ask,” she exclaimed, hurriedly. “It was by accident.” She put back the last flower, and returned to the sofa, where her friend was sitting. Rose saw that her hands were trembling. “If I might have one prayer granted now,” she said in a low voice, “it would be that he might forget me utterly. Forget he’d ever seen me. I’ve got to get through life without him, but that’s nothing compared to what he----” She did not finish the sentence, but Rose understood. CHAPTER XXIV “Come and take off your things,” suggested Cecily. Her tone indicated that conversation henceforward was to be of a surface nature, and again Rose understood. While she took toilet things from her travelling-bag, and straightened her hair, they talked of Cecily’s journeyings, of travelling adventures, of the places she had visited--and later of Diana and her love affairs. “It will be all right, I think,” Cecily said, laughing a little. “Isn’t she quaint about it, though? But he’s a nice boy.” When they returned to the drawing-room, and Cecily had settled herself into her favorite chair, she said, comfortably: “There’s one good thing, we sha’n’t be disturbed this afternoon. No one knows I’m home yet.” “I’m sorry to have to break it to you, but every one knows!” exclaimed Rose, laughing. “The day I had your telegram I happened to be in town in the afternoon, and I met Lady Wilmot.” She paused dramatically. Cecily groaned. “You told her, of course?” “Yes. She came sailing across the road, panting for gossip, and immediately asked after you, hoping for the worst in every feature. I couldn’t resist disappointing her. Then she put on her face of mystery--you know it, and began, ‘My dear, we must have a talk----’ Of course I found I had to catch a train, and rushed off in the middle of a sentence, leaving her palpitating like her own motor-car. She doesn’t know the exact moment of your arrival, but you may be very sure she’ll be round before long.”