Jean was conscious of an immense relief. The knowledge that Sir Adrian was not anywhere on the premises seemed like the lifting of a blight. Claire’s blue eyes smiled at her understandingly. “Yes, I know,” she nodded, as though Jean had given voice to her thought. “It’s just as if someone had opened a window and let the fresh air in, isn’t it?” She collected her tools, and slipping her arm within Jean’s led her in the direction of the house. “We’ll have tea at once,” she said, “and then I’ll walk back with you part way.” “You’re bent on getting rid of me quickly, then?” “Yes”--seriously. “He”--there was little need to specify to whom the pronoun referred--“will be back by the afternoon train, and for some reason or other he is very unfriendly towards you just now.” “What have I done to offend?” queried Jean lightly. Somehow, with Sir Adrian actually away, it didn’t seem a matter of much importance whether he was offended or not. Even the house had a different “feel” about it as they entered it. “It’s not anything you’ve done; it’s what you are, I think, sometimes, that when a man is full of evil and cruel thoughts and knows he has given himself up to wickedness, he simply hates to see anyone young and--and _good_, like you are, Jean, with all your life before you to make a splendid thing of.” “And what about you?” asked Jean, her eyes resting affectionately on the other’s delicate flower face with its pathetically curved lips and the look of trouble in the young blue eyes. “He sees you constantly.” “Oh, he’s used to me. I’m only his wife, you see. Besides”--wearily--“he knows that he can effectually prevent me from making a splendid thing of my life.” The note of bitterness in her voice wrung Jean’s heart. “I don’t know how you bear it!” she exclaimed. “One can bear anything--a day at a time,” answered Claire with an attempt at brightness. “But I never look forward,” she added in a lower tone. The words seemed to Jean to contain an epitome of tragedy. Not yet twenty, and Claire’s whole philosophy of life was embodied in those four desolate words: “I never look forward!” The world seemed built up of sadness and cross-purposes. Claire and Nick, Judith, and Blaise Tormarin--all had their own particular burdens to carry, burdens which had in a measure spoiled the lives of each one of them. It seemed as though no one was allowed to escape those “snuffers of Destiny” of which Blaise had spoken as he and Jean had climbed the mountain-side together. She felt a depressing conviction that her own turn would come and wondered whether it would be sooner or later. “Don’t look so blue!” Claire’s voice broke in upon her gloomy trend of thought. She was laughing, and Jean was conscious of a sudden uprush of admiration for the young gay courage which could laugh even while it could not look forward. “After all, there are compensations in life. You’re one of them, my Jean, as I’ve told you before! Now let’s talk about something else.”