He was away for a week, and she missed him unutterably. She missed the smell of tobacco in the house, the litter of papers in the library, the litter of ties and shirts in his room. Meals without him were depressing and lonely; the evenings seemed interminable. She realised with a start that she wanted Stephen. Much as she loved the Halt, it was a prison without him. A dozen times in the day she wanted Stephen’s help, or wanted to tell him something that had happened when she was in the village.

She began to count the days to his return, quite unconsciously. Then, on the last morning, a telegram came to say that he could not get back until three days later.

A wave of bitter disappointment swept over her. Until the telegram came she had not known how much she was looking forward to Stephen’s return. She felt ill-used and miserable; none of her preparations were of any use now; there would be no cosy talk over the fire that evening.

Then suddenly she thought, Why am I so disappointed? Why do I feel as though I’d like to go to bed and cry?

In all her life she had known nothing to equal this strange sensation; she brooded over it, wide-eyed, twisting her fingers. She thought about Stephen, all the mannerisms that were his, everything he did or said. She looked at his empty chair by the desk, and a little, wondering smile came.

During the days that followed the smile was often on her lips. She had the look of one who hugs some delectable secret.

The day of Stephen’s homecoming dawned at last. Elizabeth spent a long time over the arrangement of the dinner-menu. She put fresh flowers in all the rooms, and just before tea changed her frock.

The car purred to the front-door; Elizabeth heard it, and became very busy with the tea-cosy. Stephen’s voice was raised in the hall.

“’Lisbeth!”

She went to him, flushed and shy, adorable, and stood temptingly before him. His arms went out, and fell again to his sides.

“Darling—it’s damned good to see you again,” he said huskily.

She smiled up at him, and waited. Stephen looked at her, then squared his shoulders.

“Am I—in time for tea?” he jerked out.

“It’s just ready,” Elizabeth said.

They went to the library, and he sat down at Elizabeth’s feet, just as usual. For some time he did not say anything. Elizabeth touched his shoulder.

“New tie,” she remarked.

“Yes. Rather nice, isn’t it? I brought you some chocolates, ’Lisbeth, and—and this, if you’ll have it.” Anxiously he watched her open the little velvet case.

“Oh, Stephen, what a beautiful bracelet! Thank you very, very much!” She held out her hand. “Put it on, please. I’d like you to.”

He did so; she saw that his fingers trembled slightly.