Her parents peered at her out of their dim eyes in concerned silence. When the tears had come, they nodded at each other, bleating in chorus, “She is not well. She is flushed. She is certainly sickening for something. She must go to bed. The doctor must be summoned.” Jehane pushed back her chair. “You'll do nothing of the kind. I'm quite well.” After she had made her escape, it was discovered that she had eaten nothing. In a few minutes she reappeared in her out-door attire and announced that she was going to Cassingland. “But, my dear, you can't,” her mother protested; “not in your state. You may give it to Nan; it may be catching. And then, think how Mr. Tudor would blame us.” Jehane tapped with her foot impatiently. “Don't be silly, mother. I'm going.” And with that she departed. Only one of the witnesses of this scene conjectured its true cause--Betty, the housemaid, who on more than one occasion had watched these same symptoms develop in herself. At the stable where her father's horse was baited Jehane ordered out the dog-cart. She did not know why she was going to Cassingland. Certainly she did not intend to make Nan her confidant--the frenzy of love is contagious. But Nan must know many pages of Barrington's past, the whole of which was a closed book to her. Without giving away her secret, they might discuss him together. As she drove along the Woodstock road and turned off into the leafy Oxford lanes, she laid her plans. She would affect to have found him dull company in the journey back from Marston Ferry; she would be surprised that anyone should think him interesting. Then Nan, with her sensitive loyalty to friends, would prove the splendor of his character with facts drawn from her own experience. Down the road ahead a man was striding in the direction in which she was driving. At the sound of wheels he turned and, standing to one side, raised his hat. Blood flooded her cheeks. Her instinct was to dash by him. She could not endure his attitude of secure comradeship. He must be everything to her at once or nothing. Her eyes fell away from his, yet she longed to return his gaze with frankness. “I'm in luck. When I called this morning, the Professor told me you were unwell.” “I'm better.” “I'm glad. I've been blaming myself for not taking sufficient care of you.” Had he chosen, he could have crushed her to him then; she was made so happy that she would not have protested. But how was he to judge this from the proud, almost sullen face that watched him from the dog-cart? He looked up at her cheerfully. “Bound for the same place, aren't we? I'm tired of pounding along by myself; if you don't mind, I'll jump in and let you drive me.” She nodded ever so slightly and he swung himself up. “Going to Nan's?” “To Cassingland,” he assented. “I want to see for myself the lady in her tower. D'you know, I can't get that out of my head--all that you told me about girls.” “Really.”