She came along the passage in a long white dress. She wore the string of pearls which had been her twenty-first birthday present-fine pearls, very carefully matched. They were her only ornament. The pretty hands were ringless. The nails had been lacquered to a bright holly-red.

Grace Paradine put a hand on her shoulder and turned her round.

“You look very nice, my darling. But you’re pale-”

The black lashes flicked up and down again, the blue of the eyes showed bright. It was all too quick to be sure whether there was anger under the brightness. She said in a perfectly expressionless voice,

“Am I, Aunt Grace?”

Miss Paradine had that tender, charming smile.

“Why, yes, my darling-you are.” She laughed a little and let her hand slide caressingly down the bare arm to the scarlet fingertips. “Just between ourselves, you know, I think you might have put a little less on here, and given yourself some roses for our New Year’s party.”

“But Christmas roses are white.” Phyllida said the words in an odd, half laughing voice.

She began to walk towards the head of the stairs, Miss Paradine beside her. Phyllida had disengaged herself. They went down together with the width of the stair between them. Grace Paradine kept a hand on the heavy mahogany rail. She said,

“It was terrible, their keeping you on duty over Christmas.”

“I volunteered.”

Miss Paradine said nothing for a moment. Then she smiled.

“Well, my darling, it’s lovely to have you now. How long can you stay?”

Phyllida said, “I don’t know.”

“But-”

The girl stood still, threw her a look which might have meant appeal, and said in a hurry,