“Because you are not going the right way, Clytie; and it is my duty as your elder sister, who has looked after you since you were so high, to make a last effort to bring you within some restraining influences. We don't like your intimacy with Mr. Kent. It is not what we have been taught to think right. I know you look down upon us as narrow-minded at Durdleham. I think it is better for us. We are shut in, perhaps, between high walls, but the high walls keep us safe.” They were silent for a few moments, then Clytie said: “Gracie, don't you think this subject has been enough discussed? It is wasting words and spoiling good intentions. Suppose we go down to the Howatsons.” CHAPTER X. One day, about this time, Kent was walking home from the Museum. His spirits had by no means lightened since his conversation with Wither, and he strode along moodily, trying to fix his attention on the arrangement of that evening's portion of the great work. He had gone back to it resolutely and doggedly, and was conscious that it was progressing not badly, but at the same time he had a troubling sense that he was treating it less as an aim than as a cure for existence. Fairfax, the doctor, told him he was overdoing himself, that the strain of double work was telling, advised total idleness, and if possible a change of air. Kent gave the prescription a trial, and went down to the Isle of Wight for a week-end, where he tramped himself utterly tired during the day and bored himself exquisitely during the evening. Then he came back rather worse than when he went. No; he was suffering from change, and not from the want of it. London was in a pitiable condition. It had snowed, then thawed into slush, and now a hard black frost had set in, rendering the roadways like glass. Already during his walk home Kent had seen four horses down. On the first two occasions he had lent a helping hand. After that it began to grow monotonous, and he hurried past the accidents, anxious to get home out of the sullen iron-bound streets. At the corner of Sloane Square and the King's Road he saw a familiar girlish figure coming towards him. It was Winifred, her dark cheeks glowing with the exercise of walking; but he noticed a look of trouble in her eyes. “I am so glad to have met you, Mr. Kent,” she said; “I want to speak to you. Can you walk a little way with me?” “Of course, as long as you like. What is the matter? You are not yourself.” “No. I have been upset, so upset; you would hardly think it. Come and I will tell you.” They crossed the road and went on down Lower Sloane Street. “It's about Jack--Jack, the model, you remember. He has been run over! Oh, it's horrible!” “And you are going to him?” asked Kent, noticing for the first time a little basket hanging over her arm. “Give me that,” he added, taking the basket, which she out of habit surrendered to him. “And these are jellies and what not for him?”