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She spoke of her Pension and of Paris, and of her pleasure in Constance's letter. But she said nothing as to Gerald, nor as to the possibility of a visit to the Five Towns. She finished the letter in a blaze of love, and passed from it as from a dream to the sterile banality of the daily life of the Pension Frensham, feeling that, compared to Constance's affection, nothing else had any worth.

But the excitement of the evening broke Lance's sleep, and the next day he was quite ill; while Felix not only saw that he must not be left, but perceived after the first that Sister Constance's warning ought to be respected, and that an arrival would only agitate Cherry's nerves.

All Constance's waitresses were dressed as daffodils, and the high cap, representing the inverted cup of the flower, with the tight-sheathed yellow and green of the gown, was particularly becoming to Mary. She knew again the pleasure, which no one is too modest to enjoy, of being a center of admiration.

Rollstone and, to Constance's delight, his little daughter Rose, their neighbours a few doors off; but as Rose was attending classes, it had been useless to go to her before. Mr. Rollstone was a great authority, for he had spent the best part of his life in what he termed the first families of the highest circles.

To judge from Constance's face every imaginable woe had been piled on them by destiny without the slightest regard for their powers of resistance. Her eyes had the permanent look of worry, and there was in them also something of the self-defensive. Sophia had a bellicose air, as though the creature in the cave had squarely challenged her, and she was decided to take up the challenge.

On a little table at his elbow, he remarked the photograph of a jockey who was just then engrossing public affection. What did all this mean? Formerly, he had attributed every graceful feature of the room to Constance's choice. He had imagined that to her Mr. Palmer was indebted for guidance on points of aesthetic propriety. Could it be that ?

And they sought kind words to say to her, but she curtly stopped them. "It is all over," said she; "there is nothing to be said. Everything is ended, quite ended." Madame Angelin sobbed, Angelin himself wiped his poor fixed, blurred eyes. Marianne and Mathieu shed tears while retaining Constance's hands in theirs.

Dyce felt inclined to object to this, but Constance's face did not invite to further talk on the point. "At all events," he continued, "it seems no other candidate has been spoken of. The party isn't sanguine; they look upon Robb as an unassailable; sedet in aeter-numque sedebit. But we shall see about it. Presently I should like to talk over practical details with you.

Constance's eyes narrowed to slits, she fingered her beads, and nodded once, twice. "More trouble," she said, "but it's a go. Second week in January." He grasped her hand. "Votes for Women," he beamed. She looked at her watch. "Five minutes exactly. Three inches, Mr. McEwan!" "Three inches!" he called from the door. Christmas was a blank period for Mary that year.

The sudden and tragic death of Constance's foster-father which occurred virtually as narrated by Straws set a seal of profound sadness on the heart of the young girl. "Good sir, adieu!" she had said in the nunnery scene and the eternal parting had shortly followed.