It was there Hal found her. By the merest chance she had run up to the flat at her midday hour, to ask a question about Sir Edwin Crathie, and a rumour concerning him that she felt an imperative need to have answered. When she saw Lorraine in tears the question was instantly banished for the moment. Had Lorraine been in her normal condition, she could hardly have failed to notice that the “Hal” who came up in haste to ask this urgent question was not the “Hal” of a few months, a few weeks ago. She would probably have observed that the vague, indefinable change Alymer had seen in her had grown more marked and more defined. She seemed to have sprung suddenly into womanhood. It was no light-hearted, careless, rather boisterous girl who appeared unexpectedly at the flat, to give her one or two eager hugs, tell her the latest news of her doings in gay, gossipy fashion, and eat an unconscionable amount of chocolates, usually kept for her special delectation. The old, bright look was there on the surface, the ready, laughing speech, but there was also, with it, something that approached a dignified phase, and suggested a new reserve. She was also distinctly better-looking likewise, in some vague, incomprehensible way. But Lorraine had not time to take any note of the change, for all her faculties were bent upon shielding herself. Of course it was useless to hide that she had been crying, but at least Hal must not know that the crying had been soul-racking sobs. With a look of consternation and dismay she, Hal, was across the room in a bound, kneeling beside the big chair. “My dear old girl, what in the world is the matter?” Lorraine contrived to smile with some appearance of reality, as she dried her eyes, and said: “I don’t quite know. It’s idiotic of me, isn’t it? If you hadn’t come and stopped me, I should never have been able to appear tonight for swollen eyes.” But Hal was not so easily put off. She grasped both Lorraine’s hands in hers and said resolutely: “Why are you crying, Lorry?” Feeling it hopeless to avoid some sort of a reason, she replied: “I had a letter this morning that upset me rather. It is silly of me to take any notice, and I shouldn’t if I were well. I’ve been wretchedly nervy lately, and it makes me silly about things.” “What was the letter about?” “Oh, only some one who is jealous, I suppose; trying to get a little satisfaction out of saying a few things that may hurt me. It is so silly of me to mind.” Hal’s mind immediately flew to Mrs. Vivian, and instead of inquiring any further she just said: “Poor old Lorry,” and kissed her affectionately. Then with a little laugh: “I suppose you weren’t going to have any lunch at all, but I’m frightfully hungry. I hope to goodness there is something in the house.” “Run and tell Jean to see cook about it, there’s a dear. I must bathe my eyes and try to look presentable.”