"It isn't," said Sandy. "It's good stuff, Nan. Anyone would tell you so." "Do you think so?" she replied, without enthusiasm. He regarded her with an expression of anxiety. "Oh, you mustn't drop the concerto," he protested. "That's always been your trick, Nan, to go so far and no further." "It's a very good rule to follow--in some things," she replied enigmatically. "Well, look here, will you hand the manuscript over to me and let me show it to someone?" "No, I won't," she said with decision. "I hate the concerto now. It has--it has unpleasant associations. Let it rest in oblivion." He shrugged his shoulders in despair. "You're the most aggravating woman I know," he remarked irritably. In an instant Nan was her own engaging self once more. It was instinctive with her to try and charm away an atmosphere of disapproval. "Don't say that, Sandy," she replied, making a beseeching little _moue_. "You know it would be awfully boring if I always did just exactly what you were expecting me to do. It's better to be aggravating than--dull!" Sandy smiled. Nan was always quite able to make her peace with him when she chose to. "Well, no one can complain that you're dull," he acknowledged. CHAPTER XXXI TOWARDS UNKNOWN WAYS The afternoon post had just been delivered and the postman was already whizzing his way down the drive on his scarlet-painted bicycle as Lady Gertrude unlocked the private post-bag appertaining to Trenby Hall. This was one of the small jobs usually delegated to her niece, but for once the latter was away on holiday, staying with friends at Penzance. The bag yielded up some bills and a solitary letter, addressed in Isobel's looped and curly writing. It was not an easy hand to read, and Lady Gertrude produced her pince-nez to assist in deciphering it. For the most part it dealt with small incidents of her visit and dutiful enquiries concerning the progress of estate and domestic affairs at the Hall during her absence. But just before the end--where it might linger longest in the memory--came a paragraph which riveted Lady Gertrude's attention. "And how about Nan's portrait?" Isobel had written. "I suppose by this time it is finished and adorning the picture gallery? That is, if Roger has really succeeded in persuading Mr. Rooke to part with it. It certainly ought to be an _exceptional_ portrait, judging by the length of time it has taken to accomplish! Dear Aunt Gertrude, I cannot help thinking it was a mistake that Nan didn't give Mr. Rooke the sittings at his studio in town or, better still, have waited until after her marriage. People in the country are so apt to be censorious, aren't they? And there has been a good deal of comment on the matter, I _know_. I didn't wish to worry you about it, but I feel you and Roger really ought to know this." "Letter from Isobel, mother? What's her news?"