Nan read the wire in silence. Her face turned a shade whiter than before, if that were possible, and there was a smouldering anger in her eyes as she crushed the flimsy sheet in suddenly tense fingers and tossed it into the fire. "No answer," she said shortly. As soon as the maid had left the room, she burst out furiously: "How dare he? How _dare_ he think such a thing?" "What's the matter?" asked Penelope in a perturbed voice. Nan turned to her passionately. "Don't you see what he means? _Don't you see_? . . . It's because I didn't write to him yesterday from here. He doesn't _believe_ the note I left behind--he doesn't believe I'm with you!" "But, my dear, where else should you be?" protested Penelope. "And why shouldn't he believe it?" Nan shrugged her shoulders. "I told you we'd had a row. It--it was rather a big one. He probably thinks I've run away and married--oh, well"--she laughed mirthlessly--"anyone!" "Nan!" "That's what's happened"--nodding. "It was really . . . quite a big row." She paused, then continued, indignantly: "As if I'd have tried to deceive him over it--writing that I was going to you when I wasn't! Roger's a fool! He ought to have known me better. I've never yet been coward enough to lie about anything I wanted to do." "But, my dear"--Penelope was openly distressed--"we must send him a wire at once. I'd no idea you'd quarrelled--like that! He'll be out of his mind with anxiety." "He deserves to be"--in a hard voice--"for distrusting me. No, Penny"--as Penelope drew a form towards her preparatory to inditing a reassuring telegram. "I won't have a wire sent to him. D'you hear? I won't have it!" Her foot beat excitedly on the floor. Penelope signed and laid the telegraph form reluctantly aside. "You agree with me, Kitten?" Nan whirled round upon Kitty for support. "I'm not quite sure," came the answer. "You see, I've been away so long I really hardly know how things stand between you and Roger." "They stand exactly as they were. I've promised to marry him in April. And I'm going to keep my promise." "Not in April," said Kitty very quietly. "You won't be able to marry him so soon. Nan, dear, I've--I've bad news for you." She hesitated and Nan broke in hastily: "Bad news? What--who is it? Not--_not_ Uncle David?" Her voice rose a little shrilly. Kitty nodded, her face very sorrowful. And now Nan noticed that she had evidently been crying before she came to the flat. "Yes. He died this morning--in his sleep. They sent round to let me know. He had told his man to do this if--whenever it happened. He didn't want you to have the shock of receiving a wire." "I don't think it would have been a shock," said Nan at last, quietly. "I think I knew it wouldn't be very long before--before he went away. I've known . . . since Christmas."