“You can go on,” she said. He considered. “I don’t know that I’ve got anything more to say except that—things that puzzle one—there’s always the touchstone of reality. And things one doesn’t want to do because they’re difficult, or because they hurt, or because they take us away from something we’ve set our heart on—well—if they’re right, they’re right, and there’s an end of it. And the right thing, well, it’s the best thing all round. And when we get where we can see it properly, it’s—well, it’s trumps all right.” Elizabeth nodded again. “Thank you, Louis,” she said. “I’ve been shirking. I think I’ve really known it all along. Only when one shirks, it’s part of it to wrap oneself up in a sort of mist, and call everything by a wrong name. I’ve got to change my labels....” Her voice died away, and they sat silent until Agneta’s key was heard in the latch. She came in looking rested. “Nice church?” said Elizabeth. “Yes,” said Agneta, “very nice. I feel better.” During the week that followed, Elizabeth had very little time to spare for her own concerns, and Agneta clung to her and clung to hope, and day by day the hope grew fainter. It was the half-hours when they waited for the telephone bell to ring that brought the grey threads into Agneta’s hair. Twice daily Louis rang up, and each time, after the same agonising suspense, came the same message, “No news yet.” Towards the end of the week, there was a wire to say that a rumour had reached the coast that Mr. Strange was alive and on his way down the river. It was then that Agneta broke down. Whilst all had despaired, she had held desperately to hope, but when Louis followed his message home, he found Agneta with her head in Elizabeth’s lap, weeping slow, hopeless tears. Then, forty-eight hours later, Douglas Strange himself cabled in code to say that he had abandoned part of his journey owing to a native rising, and was returning at once to England. “And now, Lizabeth,” said Agneta, “now your visit begins, please. This hasn’t been a visit, it has been purgatory. I’m sure we’ve both expiated all the sins we’ve ever committed or are likely to commit. Louis, take the receiver off that brute of a telephone. I shall _never, never_ hear a telephone bell again without wanting to scream. Lizabeth, let’s go to a music hall.” Next day Agneta said suddenly: “Lizabeth, what is it?” “What is what?” Agneta’s little dark face became serious. “Lizabeth, I’ve been a beast. I’ve only been thinking about myself. Now it’s your turn. What’s the matter?” Elizabeth was silent. “Mayn’t I ask? Do you mind?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Which is the ‘no’ for?” “Both,” said Elizabeth. “I mustn’t ask then. You’d rather not talk about it? Really?” “Yes, really, Neta, dear.” “Right you are.” Agneta was silent for a few minutes. They were sitting together in the firelight, and she watched the play of light and shade upon Elizabeth’s face. It was beautiful, but troubled.