"We only got back to town last night," she said, returning Penelope's salute with fervour. "So I flew round this morning to see how you two were getting on. I can't think how you've managed without the advantage of my counsels for three whole months!" "I don't think we have managed too well," admitted Penelope drily. "There! What did I say?"--with manifest delight. "I told Barry, when he would go up to Scotland just for the pleasure of killing small birds, that I was sure something would happen in my absence. What is it? Nothing very serious, of course. By the way, where's Nan this morning?" "Playing at a concert in Exeter. At least, the concert took place last night. I'm expecting her back this afternoon." "Well, that's good news, not bad. How did you induce her to do it? She's been slacking abominably lately." Penelope nodded sombrely. "I know. I've been pitching into her for it. The Peace has upset her." "She's like every other girl. She can't settle down after four years of perpetual thrills and excitement. But if she'd had a husband fighting"--Kitty's gay little face softened incredibly--"she'd be thanking God on her knees that the war is over--however beastly," she added characteristically, "the peace may be." "She worked splendidly during the war," interposed Penelope, her sense of justice impelling the remark. "Yes"--quickly. "But she's done precious little work of any kind since. What's she been doing lately? Has she written anything new?" Penelope laughed grimly. "Oh, a song or two. And she's composed one gruesome thing which makes your blood run cold. It's really for orchestra, and I believe it's meant to represent the murder of a soul. . . . It does!" "She's rather inclined to err on the side of tragedy," observed Kitty. "Especially just now," added Penelope pointedly. Kitty glanced sharply across at her. "What do you mean? Is anything wrong with Nan?" "Yes, there's something very wrong. I'm worried about her." "Well, what is it?"--impatiently. "It's all the fault of that wretched artist man we met at your house." "Do you mean Maryon Rooke?" "Yes"--briefly. "He's rather smashed Nan up." "_He_? _Nan_?" Kitty's voice rose in a crescendo of incredulity. "But he was crazy about her! Has been, all through the war. Why, I thought there was practically an understanding between them!" "Yes. So did most people," replied Penelope shortly. "For goodness' sake be more explicit, Penny! Surely she hasn't turned him down?" "He hasn't given her the chance." "You mean--you _can't_ mean that he's chucked her?" "That's practically what it amounts to. And I don't understand it. Nan is so essentially attractive from a man's point of view." "How do you know?" queried Kitty whimsically. "You're only a woman."