"Oh, well, nothing can deprive us of the pleasures of memory," Connie said. "I like to dream of the old home sometimes, though there is a deal of pain with the joy in it. And you have the consolation of knowing that you can go back when you like, and find a real loving welcome waiting you in the bargain." "I shall never really go back under present conditions," Mary said. "But I see now that this is no reason why I should not visit my dear Lady sometimes. Wouldn't it be a glorious thing to have a nice holiday down there! To take you with me for a fortnight, to take Grace also, and leave her with Lady Dashwood till she was quite herself again. Now I know that you have been scheming and planning for a long time to get a real chance for Grace. If I told Lady Dashwood she would never hesitate for a moment--it would be as good as done. That is the plan I have in my mind." Connie caught at Mary and, heedless of passers-by, kissed her affectionately. "An angel unawares," she said with an unsteady laugh. "That is what you are. Oh, my dear, you must not put these temptations in my way, you must not try to make me discontented with my lot. For two years I have not seen a green field, or caught a sight of the sea. It is two years since I was so extravagant as to go to Hastings for the day. I took my lunch and passed the whole afternoon in the glen at Fairlight. "I met a doctor there, he was just recovering from a dangerous illness--such a nice fellow! And it seemed the most natural thing in the world that we should tell our story to one another. I wonder if I shall see that young doctor again?" "I wonder," Mary laughed. "But what are we going to do now?" "Have a proper breakfast at a place I know of," Connie said. "Then we are going to sit on the grass in the Park, and you will have a sleep whilst I look after you. Grace does not get up till about mid-day, so we won't bother her just yet. Perhaps she will be able to find us another lodging. My dear Mary, your white face is quite a reproach to me. Let us go to breakfast at once." The breakfast was plain, but good, and eaten in a clean room, which was something. Then the two wandered into the Park, given over at this hour to nursemaids and children, and under the shade of a tree Mary lay down and closed her weary eyes. The warmth was soothing. Mary found herself wondering what they would have done had it been a wet day. . . . Her mind began to wander now . . . she was back again in the garden at Dashwood, she was rambling the summer woods with the breeze in the old elms overhead. Then gradually the world seemed to grow dark, and she slept.