Craig laughed.

“Cheer up-it will pass! ‘Youth’s a stuff will not endure’.”

She made a child’s face at him.

“That’s what people always say about the things they don’t have to put up with themselves! What was I saying? Oh, about Henry Cunningham. Nobody knows what happened-at least if they do they won’t tell. But he went away for more than twenty years, and Aunt Lydia never got over it. It’s frightfully difficult to think of anybody as old as Aunt Lydia ever having been in love, isn’t it? And very depressing too, because there’s a picture of her in the drawing-room quite nice-looking, and she’s pretty frightful now.”

It was at this rather embarrassing moment that Rosamond Maxwell opened the door. Her quiet manner held, but it had been shaken. She was even paler than she had been. He guessed at the effort which steadied her voice as she said,

“My aunt would very much like to see you, Mr. Lester.”

Jenny made an abrupt movement.

“What on earth for! He’s come to see me, hasn’t he!”

“I’ll bring him back, Jenny. You can go on with your talk afterwards. I think Aunt Lydia would like to see him now.”

Jenny’s spoilt-child expression warned him that he had better get out of the room as quickly as possible. Her protests followed him as she shut the door.

A little way along the passage he stopped.

“She seems to think I’m a doctor.”

Rosamond said, “Oh-” And, “You haven’t talked to her then?”

“Oh, yes, we’ve talked.”

He wondered what she would say if she knew how frank that talk had been.

“But not about her writing-”

“Mostly about how much she admires the great works of Miss Gloria Gilmore.”