He turned into the silence and peace of Saxton Square and there met Miss Rand, who was also walking home. The statue was wrapped in blue mist, the trees were fading into grey and the evening star seemed to have taken Saxton Square under its special protection. "Good evening, Miss Rand." "Good evening, Mr. Breton." "Isn't it a lovely evening?" "Yes. But _hasn't_ it been hot?" Miss Rand did not look as though she could ever, under any possible circumstances, be hot, so neat and cool was she, but she said yes it had been. "Isn't it odd the way that as soon as it's fine people begin to complain just as they do when it's wet?" "It gives them something to talk about--just as it's giving us something now," said Miss Rand, laughing. Breton looked at her and liked her. She seemed so strong and wise and safe. She would surely always give one the kind of sensible encouragement that one needed. She would be a good person in whom to confide. They were on the top doorstep now. "No. I've got a key." He let her pass him. They stood for a moment in the hall together. He spoke, as he always did, on the instant's inspiration: "Miss Rand?" "Yes." "I'm alone such a lot--in my evenings I mean. I wonder--might I come down sometimes and just talk a little? You don't know how bad thinking too much is for me, and if I might----" "Why, of course, Mr. Breton--whenever you like." Seeing her now, he thought, just now, with her sudden colour she looked quite pretty. "I expect you could advise me--help me in lots of ways----" "If there's anything mother or I can do, Mr. Breton, you've only got to ask--Good night----" The door closed behind her. He went up to his room, a less miserable man. CHAPTER IX THE GOLDEN CAGE "She gives away because she overflows. She has her own feelings, her own standards; she doesn't keep remembering that she must be proud."--_The Lesson of the Master._ I Those weeks were, to Rachel, a golden time. She did not pretend to deny or examine their golden quality--they were far, far better than she had imagined anything could ever be, and that was enough. She had never, very definitely, imagined to herself this "coming out," but it had been, at any rate, behind its possible glories, a period of terror. "All those people" was the way that, with frightened eyes, she had contemplated it. And now the kindness that there had been! All the London world had surely nothing to do but to pay her compliments, to surround her with courtesies, to flatter her every wish. Even Aunt Adela had under the general enthusiasm, blossomed a little into good-will, even Uncle Richard had remembered to wish her well, even the Duke had cracked applause, and as for Uncle John! ... he was like an amiable conjurer whose best (and also most difficult) trick had achieved an absolute triumph.