If you’ve got to run knives into the person you love best in the world, well, you’ve got to. No good sickening and shrinking. It was better for her to do it than anyone else, because she loved him. She never made any bones about that. She loved Bill, and Bill loved Lila. As a matter of fact she loved Lila, too. You couldn’t help it. Lila was the sort of fragile, helpless creature who needed to be loved. But loving her wasn’t enough. Neither she, nor Bill, nor anyone else could speak with her voice and say no to Herbert Whitall and Sybil Dryden. Between them they gave her about as much chance as a gossamer thread would have in a roaring gale.

She looked at Bill and saw him grave, with a waiting look. He was thinner. His hair wanted brushing-the rough fair hair which never would lie down for very long. In his blunt-featured way he was as fair as Lila. He oughtn’t to have fallen in love with her, but of course he had. Those large men always did fall for something lovely and helpless.

Their eyes met.

‘What is it? Ray, what is it?’

Not here-not now. She said quickly as the taxi turned a corner,

‘You’re thinner.’

‘I was in a train crash. It knocked me out for a month.’

Ray felt her heart miss a beat. That was what could happen when seas divided you. He could be in a train smash-in hospital. He could have been dead and buried, and she wouldn’t have known-not till she met Mr. Rumbold as she had met him yesterday, by chance. He had said, ‘Waring’s back home tomorrow-Bill Waring.’ But if Bill had died out there in America she would have had to hear him say, ‘I suppose you’ve heard about Bill Waring. A train crash-shocking affair… Yes, he’s dead.’

She said, ‘Oh, Bill!’ and put her hand on his arm. She didn’t know that her colour was all gone, and that fear had brimmed up in her eyes. He laughed and said,

‘Don’t look like that-I’m all here. I cabled as soon as I came round, so I hope no one worried.’