"She will need all the strength she can get up," thought Gertrude. She herself was performing prodigies of work without any conscious effort. Frozen, tense, silent, she vibrated between the studio and the sick-room, moving as if in obedience to some hidden mechanism, a creature apparently without wants, emotions, or thoughts. She had gathered from Phyllis' cynically frank remarks, that it was by the merest chance she had not been too late and that Darrell had returned to The Sycamores. "We were going to cross on our way to Italy that very night," Phyllis said. "We drove to Charing Cross, and then the snow began to fall, and I had such a fit of coughing that Sidney was frightened, and took me home to St. John's Wood." Gertrude, who had received these confidences in silence, turned her head away with an involuntary, instinctive movement of repugnance at the mention of Darrell's Christian name. "Gerty," said Phyllis, who lay back among the pillows, a white ghost with two burning red spots on her cheeks, "Gerty, it is only fair that I should tell you: Sidney isn't as bad as you think. He went away in the summer, because he was beginning to care about me too much; he only came back because he simply couldn't help himself. And--and, you will go out of the room and never speak to me again--I knew he had a wife, Gerty; I heard them talking about her at the Oakleys, the very first day I saw him. She was his model; she drinks like a fish, and is ten years older than he is----I put that in the letter about getting married, because I didn't quite know how to say it. I thought that very likely you knew." Gertrude had walked to the window, and was pulling down the blind with stiff, blundering fingers. It was growing dusk and in less than half an hour Lucy would be home. It was just a week since she had set out for Cornwall. "Shall you tell Lucy?" came the childish voice from among the pillows. "I don't know. Lie still, Phyllis, and I will see if Mrs. Maryon has prepared the jelly for you." "Kind old thing, Mrs. Maryon." "Yes, indeed. She quite ignores the fact that we have no possible claim on her." Gertrude met Mrs. Maryon on the dusky stairs, dish in hand. "Do go and lie down, Miss Lorimer; or we shall have you knocked up too, and where should we be then? You mustn't let Miss Lucy see you like that." Gertrude obeyed mechanically. Going into the sitting-room, she threw herself on the little hard sofa, her face pressed to the pillow. She must have fallen into a doze, for the next thing of which she was aware was Lucy's voice in her ear, and opening her eyes she saw Lucy bending over her, candle in hand. "Have you seen her?" she asked, sitting up with a dazed air. "I am back this very minute. Gertrude, what have you been doing to yourself?" "Oh, I am all right." She rose with a little smile. "Let me look at you, Lucy. Actually roses on your cheek."