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“How very nice you’ve had it made for me.” Bertha looked gratified, not only because this young lady evidently knew the proper way things ought to be done, but also because she realised that Bertha herself, though responsible, had actually given orders for the room to be prepared.

“And this is your bathroom, miss,” she explained, opening another door. “I think that’s all, but if there’s anything you want, ring the bell and one of the maids will come. Ah, here’s John with your case. Would you like to have it unpacked for you?”

“Thank you, I can see to that,” Lucy told her, but Bertha still lingered.

“Dinner is at half past seven, miss,” she announced. “And if you don’t mind me telling you, dress isn’t in the least formal when the family is alone. Just an ordinary summer dress would do nicely.”

“I see.” Lucy began to wish she would go, but she had realised by now that Bertha was a law unto herself. She came and went as she saw fit. “Thank you, Bertha.”

And then, with a final comprehensive look round the room, Bertha did at last leave her.

It did not take Lucy very long to unpack, tidy herself and change. Then she was left wondering what she should do. There was still nearly an hour before dinner. Ought she to stay in her room until nearer the time for it, or should she go downstairs? A glance from her window which overlooked the terrace showed that there was no one there, so presumably both Mrs. Mayberry and Owen were making preparations for the evening. Lucy decided to go and sit outside until something happened.

She retraced her steps to the hall, but before she reached the door she was intercepted by Owen who appeared from one of the rooms. He had changed into a lightweight summer suit which had the effect of making him appear a taller and more imposing figure.

“My aunt is having a little rest,” he told her. “Do come in, we usually have drinks before dinner. Can I get you something?”

The last thing Lucy wanted was a tete-a-tete with Owen, but it would be difficult to refuse his offer without appearing ungracious, so she asked for a sherry and followed him into the room.

While he got her drink, Lucy took a quick look round. It was an interesting room, for though it was extremely beautiful, it was evident that it was not only well loved but well used. Much of the furniture, she guessed, was antique and very valuable, but nothing had been chosen for that reason alone. Chairs and sofas were obviously there because they were comfortable to sit on, and there was plenty of room to move about unhindered by the presence of small, niggling pieces of furniture which Lucy had always disliked.

“I hope everything in your room is as you like it?” Owen asked her politely as he handed her a glass.

“Thank you, yes,” Lucy told him. “There were even flowers there. I think that was marvellous, seeing what short notice your staff had that the room was needed.”

She was, she knew, taking the war into the enemy’s camp, but she felt that in doing so she was robbing Owen of an opportunity for saying something much like that himself. Owen, however, was apparently not in a combative mood.

“Bertha prides herself on those little feminine touches,” he said gravely. “Personally, I bar flowers in my room. They always get in the way, and it’s incredible how far the water in a small vase goes.”

Lucy did not reply. She did not really hear what he said, for she had just noticed that beside her on the sofa where she was sitting was an evening paper. At first she had only glanced casually at it and then, incredibly, she realised that she was looking down at a photograph of Dick.

But it was not a photograph of Dick alone. Hanging on to his arm and looking up at him with adoring eyes was a pretty girl. And the caption, dancing before her eyes, read:

“Millionaire’s Daughter Weds Father’s Employee ”

“Miss Darvill!
Miss Darvill!
”

Someone was saying Lucy’s name over and over again. The voice was both urgent and anxious, but to Lucy’s ears it seemed no more than the buzzing of a fly—maddeningly persistent but entirely meaningless. She made an impatient little gesture with her hands to make it stop.

Then strong hands gripped her shoulders and shook her sharply.

“Miss Darvill, you must pull yourself together! My aunt may be in at any moment and I cannot have her distressed by seeing you in this condition.”

Because it needed more strength than she could find to resist that authoritative voice, Lucy allowed herself to be dragged from the dark swirling waters that had engulfed her, and opened her eyes. For a moment she did not know where she was. Then she realised that Owen Vaughan was standing over her, and memory returned. Dick, married to another girl—Lucy gave a little shuddering moan and closed her eyes again.

“None of that!” Owen said roughly. “You fainted, but you’re all right now. Do you hear? You’re all right!”

Lucy moistened her dry lips.

“Yes—I’m—all right,” she muttered with an effort. If only he would leave her alone!

But that Owen had no intention of doing.

“Excellent!” he approved bracingly. “Now drink some of this.”

He put her glass into her hand and instinctively Lucy’s fingers closed round its slender stem. But when she raised it to her lips, it chattered so against her lips that she could not drink. Owen’s hand closed round hers, steadying it and forcing her to sip the wine.

After a moment she tried to push his hand away.

“No more," she whispered, but Owen was relentless.

“Every drop!” he insisted, and mechanically Lucy obeyed.

“That’s better,” he announced, setting the glass down. “And now, you will kindly tell me just what made you faint?”

“Oh—” Desperately Lucy sought an explanation— any explanation but the true one. “Just the heat, I expect—and the journey—”

Owen drew up a chair and sat down facing her.

“Now I should have thought you were far too young and too healthy a girl to be knocked out by a comparatively short journey on a day that is really no more than pleasantly warm,” he announced with detestable persistence. “Tell me, do you often keel over like this? Because if so, I can’t see you being much use to my aunt and I think the best thing you can do is to go straight back home first thing in the morning!”

“Oh, no!” In her alarm, Lucy sat up straight and faced him defiantly. “I can’t do that!”

“No? Why not?” And when Lucy did not reply he went on: “Are you in trouble at home? Have you run away?”

“No, no—nothing like that,” Lucy insisted. “Truly not.”

“You mean, your parents know where you are?”

Lucy nodded.

“I see.” Owen leaned back in his chair. “Yet, for some reason or other, you wanted to get away from your home in a considerable hurry, and you don’t want to go back. Is that a fair statement of fact?”

“Yes,” Lucy admitted. What else was there to say?

“I’m going to find out the reason for that, you know,” Owen told her very softly. '

“No,” Lucy said desperately. “It—it’s nothing of which I need be ashamed, but it isn’t—”

“Isn’t my business?” Owen suggested, and now he leaned forward very close to her. “But you see, I intend to make it my business! As I told you, I don’t like secretiveness, and as I haven’t told you but you may have realised for yourself, I am very fond of my aunt. That adds up to the fact that I don’t intend to have her worried by your troubles, and so I intend to get to the bottom of them. Well?”

Lucy shook her head, her lips set in a straight line.

Owen glanced at his watch.

“Time is getting on,” he remarked conversationally. “So, rather than waste time in convincing you that I mean exactly what I say,
I'll
tell you
what happened today!”

“No!” Lucy cowered away from him. “You can’t— you can’t possibly know!”

“My dear girl, it’s as plain as a pikestaff!” Owen said impatiently. “First of all, when Uncle Stanley rang through this morning he told Aunt Louise that you had been his confidential secretary until quite recently, and that he could thoroughly recommend you. Which means that you had not left in disgrace and also that you have had some time in which to look round for a job—-you could even have suggested coming here some weeks ago. But no, it wasn’t until today that you suddenly made up your mind you must leave home at once.”

Lucy turned her head away. He was intolerable— and he was very clever, too.

“Now,” he went on deliberately, “I can think of only one explanation that fits in with all that. You left my uncle’s office because you intended to get married.” He paused, but when Lucy made no reply he went on: “You do realise, don’t you, that if you don’t refute what I’m saying, it’s as good as an admission?” Another pause. “Well, to continue. I think that you expected to be married today—and that at the last moment, your boy friend jilted you. Am I right?”

Lucy’s hands flew up to cover her face. How could he—how could he! Didn’t he realise that he was torturing her?

“What’s more,” the hateful voice went on deliberately, “I think that picture in the paper is of the young man in question, and that until you saw it you had a sneaking hope in your heart that it wasn’t final because you had no idea that he was marrying another girl today instead of you!”

Lucy’s hands dropped to her lap. What was the good of trying to deny it? He was too clever!

“You’re quite right on all counts, Mr. Vaughan,” she said listlessly. “And I think perhaps it would be better if I did leave tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t see that,” Owen said judicially. “Not now that you’ve owned up. As you said, it’s nothing of which you need be ashamed.”

Not ashamed—but humiliated, hurt beyond endurance, needing only a hole in which to hide—

“You don’t understand,” she said hurriedly. “My whole reason for leaving home was that I wanted to be among strangers—people who didn’t know—and now that you know—” she shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

“Yes, I see your point,” he agreed. “I think I might feel the same in similar circumstances.- Although—” he rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his chin, “perhaps not for quite the same reason.”

“What do you mean?” Lucy demanded suspiciously.

“Well, what I am wondering is, are you simply running away from what has happened—refusing to face up to it? Or have you made up your mind to make a fresh start?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy admitted. “But one thing I do know—I don’t want anybody’s pity. And now that you know—”

“My good child, I don’t pity you, I think you’ve had an extremely fortunate escape,” Owen told her bluntly. “Haven’t you realised yet how lucky you are that this has happened
before
you were married? It might have been afterwards!”

“Oh, no, no!” Lucy protested. “It couldn’t—”

“Oh, yes, it could,” he insisted. He picked the paper up and studied the photograph. “Of course, you never realised it, but that young man has a thoroughly weak face—his chin recedes and his eyes are too close together. He is the sort that will always take the line of least resistance—particularly when it pays him to!”

“How dare you!” Lucy stormed. “You don’t know anything about him—”

“Do you?”

He shot the two words at her, and Lucy flinched. She had thought she knew Dick as intimately as she knew herself—but now she knew that wasn’t true.

Without comment, Owen turned back to the paper and began to read.

“Miss Gwenda Kelsall, only child of millionaire property owner Lawrence Kelsall, after her marriage today at Caxton Hall to Mr. Richard Corbett. Mr. Kelsall is at present in America and is unaware of his daughter’s marriage, but this seemed to cause the young couple no misgivings since, as the bride confidently remarked: ‘Daddy never says no if I really want something—and I certainly wanted—’ ”

Lucy snatched the paper from him and crumpled it fiercely in her hands.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she flared. “You like hurting people—you’re cruel, sadistic—”

“Not at all,” Owen said calmly. “I’m actually doing the kindest thing possible—making you realise that you’ve lost nothing worth having. That should enable you to get over your lovelornness in the shortest possible time—that, and the fact that you’ve surely got sufficient self-respect not to allow yourself to give another thought to—a married man!”

“You mean, though we’ve only known each other a few hours you feel enough concern to go to all this trouble on my behalf?” Lucy said scornfully.

“Naturally. We shall be living under the same roof for some time, and if I can sting you into showing some pride I shan’t have to put up with seeing you mooning about like a rag doll with its stuffing running out!”

Lucy glared at him in speechless indignation. He was intolerable, absolutely intolerable, and she was completely at his mercy because, in his arrogance, he recognised none of the limitations which good manners or kindliness impose. He thought simply of his own comfort and convenience, no matter who suffered thereby.

“Oh, I admit that my motives aren’t disinterested,” he told her coolly, just as if he had read her thoughts. “But all the same, I’ve already done you quite a bit of good! It’s a far healthier state of affairs for you to have lost your temper with me than for you to be fainting all over the place. Why, you’ve even got quite an attractive colour in your cheeks.” He regarded her with his head on one side. “And your eyes are positively sparkling. Temper suits you, my child!”

Lucy clenched her hands and made a terrific effort to speak calmly.

“You would be more accurate if you referred to my ‘temper’ as more than justifiable anger,” she said. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that you’ve poked and pried into my private affairs in an absolutely disgusting way —and that you’ve shown no consideration for my feelings—”

“I thought you said you didn’t want pity?” he interpolated.

“Nor do I,” Lucy countered swiftly. “All I want is to be left alone—”

“We’d better get this straightened out,” Owen announced firmly. “Without giving any warning that you were in
a
highly emotional—one might almost say distraught—condition, you inflict yourself upon people who have every right to assume that you are a perfectly normal, balanced young woman who is prepared to behave rationally and to work hard. In the circumstances, can you honestly blame me if I take what steps I deem fit to make sure that you do come up to that specification?”