A memory of old times when her father lived rose in her mind. For Colonel Uniacke had held a firm rule over the house. In common with many retired officers, he supervised the daily menage, with the result that when he died his wife missed his wise authority. And if they couldn't govern their houses--Jill's active mind ran on--with the skill of the "old-fashioned woman," how were they going to govern the Empire? It came to her with a sudden flash of childish insight that, in the new, inexorable cry of her sex, the Usefulness of the Individual was being carelessly swept aside for the dangerous Power of the Mass. She had reached by now the second floor, immersed in her sombre thoughts, when she heard the front door open and paused to lean over the rail. "That you, darling?" she called down--"it's so late--I was getting anxious." She checked the impulse to retrace her steps as she saw below the shadow of Stephen. Slowly toiling up the stairs, Mrs. Uniacke appeared, with a worn face where dark circles heightened the brilliance of her eyes. "Oh, Mother--how tired you look!--and wet through..." Jill's hands ran with anxious fondness over the coat that shrouded the fragile form. The older woman smiled feebly. "I've had a hard day, Jill." She kissed her daughter's fresh cheek and moved on shakily into the bedroom. "What luxury!"--her thin hands went out to the cheerful blaze--"did you tell Lizzie to light it, dear?" "Yes. I washed my head, you see," Jill explained, "and I thought--it's _so_ cold to-night--I could dry it here by your fire and then it would warm your room for you." "It's very nice." Her mother sank down in the armchair as she spoke. Jill, with quick fingers, undid her veil and removed the soaking hat. "Now, your boots..." She began to unlace them. "I put your slippers to toast--there, isn't that nice? Look here, darling, just to please me, won't you go straight to bed?" "I can't." Mrs. Uniacke sighed. "I've brought Stephen back to dinner. He's been so good ... and he's wet too. I do hope he won't get a chill." A shadow fell on the girl's bright face. "Well--he can dine with me--for once! I'll bring you up your dinner myself, so it won't make extra work for Lizzie." She tossed back her mane of hair and tried to speak in a cheerful tone. But Mrs. Uniacke's mouth hardened. "I promised to go through some papers to-night ... I can't, Jill--though it's very tempting..." She pressed her hand to her hot forehead. "This wet weather gives me neuralgia. Oh dear! I wish I were stronger." "Do go to bed"--Jill pleaded. "Look here--if you _must_ work this evening, why can't Stephen come up here? I could put a table by your side and you've got that lovely pink jacket Aunt Elizabeth sent at Christmas." "Here? In my bedroom?" Mrs. Uniacke stared. "I shouldn't _think_ of such a thing! Really, Jill, you must be mad!" The girl's face went suddenly scarlet at the horror in her mother's voice.