"So Elizabeth has gone to London," she said after a silence, feeling that she had made a bad slip the moment the words were out. "Yes, she went more than a week ago," Joan replied. Mrs. Ogden looked up with interest. "But surely not for long? How queer of you not to have told me, dear." "I thought I had," said Joan untruthfully. "I heard from her this morning," Mrs. Benson plunged on, feeling that she might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb. "She's got a very good post as librarian to some society." Then Elizabeth was in London! "Well, of all the extraordinary things!" said Mrs. Ogden, genuinely surprised. "Joan, you _never_ told me a word!" "I didn't know about the post as librarian, Mother." "No, but you knew that Elizabeth had left Seabourne for good." "Yes, I knew that----" "Well then, fancy your not telling me; fancy her not coming here to say good-bye--extraordinary!" Her voice was shaking a little with excitement now. "What made her go off suddenly, like that? Surely you and she haven't quarrelled, Joan?" Joan looked at Mrs. Benson; did she know? Probably, as Elizabeth had written to her. Mrs. Benson smiled and nodded sympathetically, her motherly eyes said plainly: "Never mind, dear, it's not so bad as you think; you've got my Richard." But Joan ignored the comfort. What could Mrs. Benson know of all this, what could anyone know but Elizabeth and herself. She said: "I think she was tired of Seabourne, Mother. Elizabeth was always very clever, and there's nothing to be clever about here." Mrs. Ogden smiled quietly. "Elizabeth was certainly very clever; but what about her interest in you?" "Yes, she took a great interest in me; she believed in me, I think, but--oh, well, she couldn't wait for ever, could she?" She thought: "If they go on like this I shall scream!" "Well, I must be going," said Mrs. Benson uncomfortably. "Come up to-morrow and lunch with me, Joan; half-past one, and I hope you'll come too, Mrs. Ogden." Mrs. Ogden sighed. "I never go anywhere since James's death. It may be morbid of me, but I feel I can't bear to, somehow." "Oh, but do come, please. We shall be quite alone and it'll do you good." The smile that played round Mrs. Ogden's lips was apologetic and sad; it seemed to repudiate gently the suggestion that anything, however kindly meant, could do her good, now. "I think not," she said, pressing Mrs. Benson's hand. "But thank you all the same for wanting such a dull guest." Mrs. Benson thought: "A tiresome woman; she's overdoing her bereavement, poor thing." The door had scarcely closed on the departing guest when Mrs. Ogden turned to her daughter. "Is this true?" she demanded, holding out her hands. "Is what true?" "About Elizabeth." "Oh, for God's sake!" exclaimed Joan gruffly, "don't let's go into all that. Elizabeth has gone away, isn't that enough? Aren't you satisfied?" "Yes," said Mrs. Ogden, and her voice was wonderfully firm and self-possessed. "I am quite satisfied, Joan."