The maid was gone again, but the girl almost cried out. “No, I don’t want no brandy. I never drink brandy. It’s a cup of tea I want, madam.” And she burst into tears. It was a terrible and fascinating moment. Rosemary knelt beside her chair. “Don’t cry, poor little thing,” she said. “Don’t cry.” And she gave the other her lace handkerchief. She really was touched beyond words. She put her arm round those thin, bird-like shoulders. Now at last the other forgot to be shy, forgot everything except that they were both women, and gasped out: “I can’t go on no longer like this. I can’t bear it. I shall do away with myself. I can’t bear no more.” “You shan’t have to. I’ll look after you. Don’t cry any more. Don’t you see what a good thing it was that you met me? We’ll have tea and you’ll tell me everything. And I shall arrange something. I promise. _Do_ stop crying. It’s so exhausting. Please!” The other did stop just in time for Rosemary to get up before the tea came. She had the table placed between them. She plied the poor little creature with everything, all the sandwiches, all the bread and butter, and every time her cup was empty she filled it with tea, cream and sugar. People always said sugar was so nourishing. As for herself she didn’t eat; she smoked and looked away tactfully so that the other should not be shy. And really the effect of that slight meal was marvellous. When the tea-table was carried away a new being, a light, frail creature with tangled hair, dark lips, deep, lighted eyes, lay back in the big chair in a kind of sweet langour, looking at the blaze. Rosemary lit a fresh cigarette; it was time to begin. “And when did you have your last meal?” she asked softly. But at that moment the door-handle turned. “Rosemary, may I come in?” It was Philip. “Of course.” He came in. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, and stopped and stared. “It’s quite all right,” said Rosemary smiling. “This is my friend, Miss——” “Smith, madam,” said the languid figure, who was strangely still and unafraid. “Smith,” said Rosemary. “We are going to have a little talk.” “Oh, yes,” said Philip. “Quite,” and his eye caught sight of the coat and hat on the floor. He came over to the fire and turned his back to it. “It’s a beastly afternoon,” he said curiously, still looking at that listless figure, looking at its hands and boots, and then at Rosemary again. “Yes, isn’t it?” said Rosemary enthusiastically. “Vile.” Philip smiled his charming smile. “As a matter of fact,” said he, “I wanted you to come into the library for a moment. Would you? Will Miss Smith excuse us?” The big eyes were raised to him, but Rosemary answered for her. “Of course she will.” And they went out of the room together. “I say,” said Philip, when they were alone. “Explain. Who is she? What does it all mean?”