The latter said breathlessly: "I was afraid you might have gone to bed . . ."

Sarah's manner was carefully matter-of-fact. "Oh, no. I was waiting for you. Have some tea, will you? It's real Lapsang Souchong."

She brought over a cup. Carol had been nervous and uncertain of herself. Now she accepted the cup and a biscuit and her manner became calmer.

"This is rather fun," said Sarah, smiling.

Carol looked a little startled.

"Yes," she said doubtfully. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Rather like the midnight feasts we used to have at school," went on Sarah. "I suppose you didn't go away to school?"

Carol shook her head. "We never left home. We had a governess—different governesses. They never stayed long."

"Did you never go away at all?"

"We've lived always in the same house. This coming abroad is the first time I've ever been away."

Sarah said casually: "It must have been a great adventure."

"Oh, it was. It—it's all been like a dream."

"What made your—your stepmother decide to come abroad?"

At the mention of Mrs. Boynton's name, Carol had flinched. Sarah said quickly: "You know, I'm by way of being a doctor. I've just taken my M.B.. Your mother—or stepmother rather—is very interesting to me—as a case, you know. I should say she was quite definitely a pathological case."

Carol stared. It was clearly a very unexpected point of view to her. Sarah had spoken as she had with deliberate intent. She realized that to her family Mrs. Boynton loomed as a kind of powerful obscene idol. It was Sarah's object to rob her of her more terrifying aspect.

"Yes," she said. "There's a kind of disease of—of grandeur—that gets hold of people. They get very autocratic and insist on everything being done exactly as they say and are altogether very difficult to deal with."

Carol put down her cup. "Oh," she cried, "I'm so glad to be talking to you. You know, I believe Ray and I have been getting quite—well, quite queer. We'd got terribly worked up about things."

"Talking with an outsider is always a good thing," said Sarah. "Inside a family one is apt to get too intense." Then she asked casually: "If you are unhappy, haven't you ever thought of leaving home?"

Carol looked startled. "Oh, no! How could we? I—I mean, Mother would never allow it."

"But she couldn't stop you," said Sarah gently. "You're over age."

"I'm twenty-three."

"Exactly."

"But still, I don't see how—I mean I wouldn't know where to go and what to do." Her tone seemed bewildered. "You see," she said, "we haven't got any money."

"Haven't you any friends you could go to?"

"Friends?" Carol shook her head. "Oh, no, we don't know anyone!"

"Did none of you ever think of leaving home?"

"No—I don't think so. Oh—oh—we couldn't."

Sarah changed the subject. She found the girl's bewilderment pitiful.

She said: "Are you fond of your stepmother?"

Slowly Carol shook her head. She whispered in a low scared voice: "I hate her. So does Ray . . . We've—we've often wished she would die."