Miss Trevor peered anxiously over her spectacles at the retreating figure. Campbell's rubicund countenance had grown strangely grave. "No better?" he asked as soon as Anita was out of earshot. Miss Trevor shook her head disconsolately. "Worse, I think. I can't imagine what can be the matter with her. She seemed at one time to have recovered from her terrible experience. But now, as you can see for yourself, she is absolutely wretched. She takes no interest in anything. She hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive. If she goes on like this much longer, she will fret herself into her grave. Yet whenever I question her, she assures me that she is all right. I really don't know what I ought to do." "Has it never occurred to you that she may be wondering why Wilmersley has never written to her, nor been to see her?" "Lord Wilmersley? Why--no. She hardly ever mentions him." "She never mentions him," corrected Guy. "She inquires after everybody at Geralton except Cyril. Doesn't that strike you as very suspicious?" "Oh, you don't mean that----" He nodded. "But she hardly knows him! You told me yourself that she had only seen him three or four times." "True, but you must remember that they met under very romantic conditions. And Cyril is the sort of chap who would be likely to appeal to a girl's imagination." "Lady Wilmersley in love! I can't believe it!" exclaimed Miss Trevor. "I wish I didn't," muttered Guy under his breath. She heard him, however, and laid her small, wrinkled hand tenderly on his shoulder. "My poor boy, I guessed your trouble long ago." "Don't pity me! It doesn't hurt any longer--not much at least. When one realises a thing is quite hopeless, one somehow ends by adjusting oneself to the inevitable. What I feel for her now is more worship than love. I want above all things that she should be happy, and if Cyril can make her so, I would gladly speed his wooing." "Do you think he has any thought of her?" "I am sure he loves her." "Then why has he given no sign of life all these months?" "I fancy he is waiting for the year of their mourning to elapse. But I confess that I am surprised that he has been able to restrain his impatience as long as this. Every day I have expected--" "By Jove!" cried Campbell, springing to his feet, "there he is now!" Miss Trevor turned and saw a tall figure emerge from the house. Being plunged suddenly into the midst of romance, together with the unexpected and dramatic arrival of the hero, was too much for the little lady's composure. Her bag, her knitting, her glasses fell to the ground unheeded as she rose hurriedly to receive Lord Wilmersley. "So glad to see you! Let me give you a cup of tea, or would you prefer some whiskey and soda?" She was so flustered that she hardly knew what she was saying. "Thanks, I won't take anything. Hello, Guy! You here? Rather fancied I might run across you." Cyril's eyes strayed anxiously hither and thither.