Next morning Mitka wasn’t there. That evening Edward went down to the Rue de Lappe. He did not come back to the studio until the afternoon of the next day.

On the third day he telephoned to the hospitals and the police. But Mitka had not been arrested or injured. He was simply gone.

Gone. So it’s happened at last, Edward had thought, in the instant before losing consciousness, after his crash in Flanders. Thank God!

*   *   *

Within a week he was getting out of the boat-train at Victoria, gloriously tight. “I’m never going to be sober again,” he told Margaret. “Never, never again.” She had looked scared. They had all looked slightly scared of him. Rabbits. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone. What a comic little town London was. He went to their rabbit parties and played at being a rabbit—the biggest rabbit of them all. People who didn’t know him were charmed. His friends were very bright and friendly and a trifle scared.

But this was all temporary. It couldn’t go on, and he knew how it would end. At last he had got to be alone. But not here. Not in Paris. Someone mentioned Berlin. He’d taken it for an omen. In forty-eight hours he was on his way.

*   *   *

And that was a year ago.

Edward’s brilliant forlorn eyes looked out from the warm, lighted dining-car into the cold brief afternoon world. Twilight was gathering on the huge revolving disc of the plain. The passengers were going back to their compartments. Not long to wait now. His mouth twitched into a little nervous grin. He picked up his pencil. He’d suddenly thought of something funny to write to Margaret.

Chapter IV

IV

MARY rang the bell. Lily herself opened the door of the flat.

“Why, Mary! This is a surprise!”

“Good afternoon, Lily. How are you?”

After a moment’s hesitation they kissed.

“Very well, thank you. Come in.”

Mary followed Lily into the grey and silver sitting-room, admiring the condition in which everything was kept.

“Sit down, won’t you?” said Lily, smiling, pushing forward a chair.

“May I look round a little, first?”

“Of course. Why, you’ve never seen the flat—have you?”

“No—may I?”

They smiled at each other. Lily, smiling with sudden childish pleasure, opened a door.

“This is my bedroom.”

Over the bed hung a water-colour of the Hall as seen from the end of the garden.

“I’ve never seen this before,” said Mary.

“Richard did it.”

They stood together in silence looking at the picture. Then Lily quietly moved away:

“And this is the bathroom.”

“I see you’ve got the shape of bath I’ve always wanted.”

“Yes, it’s quite comfortable.”

“And what a nice shade for the light.”

“Do you know who sent me that the other day? Mrs. Beddoes.”

“Really? Where is she now?”