She set her two hands against his massive shoulders and strove with all her might, while he looked down at her, smiling, and gave way no more than granite. With a gasp of laughter she surrendered, and her mouth was willing against his....

Well, well, thought Hilary, enlightened, as he turned away towards the door—so George knows women, does he. And it looks as though he does, at that. She never kissed me that way....

But as he reached the threshold, his mother was coming along the passage hurriedly, a crumpled paper in her hand. Oh, Lord, he thought, here’s the Home Office, at last.

“George!” Mrs. Shenstone called sharply as she came. “Alice—George – where are you—” She stood in the doorway, her eyes blind with tears, her lips atremble.

“What is it, mater?” George went to her quickly.

“Darling, what’s happened?” Alice’s arms went round her on the other side.

“It’s Hilary—I’ve had a telegram—”

“What about him, mater?”

“No—oh, no—!” cried Alice, looking frightened.

“He’s dead.” She collapsed into sobbing, and they led her to a chair near the table. George poured out a cocktail and held the glass firmly while she sipped at it and was calmer. Alice slid to her knees beside Mrs. Shenstone’s chair and stayed there, staring straight ahead of her with wide, dry eyes.

A moment more Hilary lingered in the doorway, looking back at them. There was nothing for him to do here, Alice would find her own way to happiness now with no further help from him. I’m well out of that, he told himself firmly, resolutely denying himself sympathy as a jilted man. There was never much in it, I suppose, and now that George has learned about women....!

“You’re free, Alice,” he said gently, hoping to make it a little easier. “Don’t start having a conscience now, for heaven’s sake. You’re free to marry George, without having to throw me over. Just what you wanted—or isn’t it? Good luck, George—no hard feelings.”

He kept on his way towards the stairs, through the empty hall, out into the sunlit street....