"I'm not supposed to go for long walks by myself--only to potter round the estate--and no one ever asks me any questions." Her voice was rather pathetic--in contrast to her proud assurance when she talked about school. "We'll meet again," he said impulsively. "I hope so--I hope so awfully. To-morrow I've got to go over to Haxsmiths in the car with Awdrey, but I've nothing else all the rest of this week. I wanted father to take me to Lingfield races on Saturday, but he can't." "Do you like race-meetings?" "I've never been to one in my life. I wanted so much to go this time--I'm generally at school, you know, and it seemed such a good chance; but father has to be in Lewes, and Awdrey's spending the week-end in Brighton--besides, I couldn't go with her alone, one wants a man." "I'll take you if you like." "You! Oh!" "Shouldn't you like it?" "I should love it--but if any one saw us ... father would be furious." "No one shall see us--we won't go into any of the enclosures and risk meeting your friends. Do let me take you." Tony flushed with pleasure and fright. This was adventure indeed. "I'd love to go. Oh, how ripping!" When Nigel reached home that morning he went straight to find Janey. There was something vital between him and his sister--each brought the other the first-fruits of emotion. Janet might find Leonard a tenderer comforter, more thoughtful, more demonstrative, but there was not between them that affinity of sorrow there was between her and Nigel. Not that she ever told him, even hinted, why she suffered, but the mere glance of his eyes, so childish yet so troubled, the mere touch of those hands coarsened and spoiled by the toil of his humiliation, was more comfort to her than Len's caresses or tender words. Nigel could repeat the magic formula of sympathy--"I too have known...." He felt, unconsciously, the same towards her. But it was more happiness than grief that he brought her. He had acquired the habit of eating his heart out alone, but happiness was so new and strange that he hardly knew what to do with it. So he ran with it to Janey, like a child to his mother with something he does not quite understand. To-day he found her in the kitchen, sitting by the fire, and watching some of her doubtful cookery. Her back was bent, and her arms rested from the elbow on her lap, the long hands dropping over the knees. Her face, thrust forward from the gloom of her hair, wore a strange white look of defiance, while her lips quivered with surrender.