All through the next day, while motoring with her cousin Dick Bruce, Hal made a valiant effort to appear exactly as usual; but all the fresh spring countryside now seemed to mock her with its sudden emptiness, and the very engine of the motor throbbed out to her that something had gone from her life which would not come back any more. She chatted away to Dick manfully, about all manner of things, but in the pauses of their chatter she was silent and still in a manner quite unlike her old self—reattending with a start, and sometimes so distrait she did not hear when he spoke to her. After a time Dick began to notice, and then purposely to watch, and finally he perceived all her gaiety was forced, and sometimes was weighing heavily on her mind. It was useless to say anything while they motored, so he gave all his attention to his driving, and purposely allowed the conversation to drop. When they returned to Bloomsbury he went in to supper with her, as was his habit, and, as he hoped, Dudley was away up at Holloway. It was not until they had finished their meal, and the landlady had cleared away, that he attacked the subject; then, with characteristic directness, he said: “Now, Hal, what’s the matter?” “The matter?…” in surprise. “What can you mean, Dick? Why should anything be the matter?” She tried to meet his eyes frankly, but before the searching inquiry in them her gaze dropped to the fire. “Something is the matter, Hal. Just as if I shouldn’t know.” She was thoughtful a moment or two, thinking how best to put him off the right scent; then with overpowering suddenness came the recollection of all the pleasure and interest and delight the lost friendship had stood for, and her eyes filled with tears. It was useless to attempt to hide them, so she contrived to say as steadily as possible: “I am a bit down on my luck about something; but it’s nothing to worry about. Don’t take any notice; there’s a dear boy. I shall soon forget.” “But why shouldn’t I take any notice? Don’t be a goose, Hal. Tell me what’s the matter.” She was silent, and after a pause he added: “I suppose it is Sir Edwin?” Hal felt it useless to prevaricate, and so she said, with assumed lightness: “Well, it has been a little sudden, and we had some jolly times together.” “Then he is engaged?” “Yes.” She told him briefly why. Dick watched her with a question in his eyes. “Did he deliberately get engaged to the other girl, knowing he cared for you?” he asked. Hal tried to lie. “Oh, there was nothing of that sort between him and me. We were just good pals. But of course it can’t go on the same.” “You’re not a clever liar, Hal,” he said, with a little smile. She coloured and bit her lip, with an uneasy laugh. Then the tears shone again. “Better tell me about it. Perhaps I can lend a hand to get through with.” Hal placed her hands on the mantelshelf, and leaned her forehead down on them.