lilian slept heavily and without moving, and when the parlourmaid aroused her with more tea at nine o'clock according to order, she drank half the first cup before the process of waking was complete. her mind had been running jerkily:

"so she actually went all that way to see his grave. and i haven't seen the stone myself. of course felix wrote to her when he was getting better, and told her he was going to marry me. that's how she must have first known i was out there with him. he wrote on purpose to tell her. and she went all that way to see my darling's grave, and never said a word to me! it's her feeling for felix makes her so cruel, poor thing! oh! but she's so hard, hard! well, i could never be hard like that--i don't care what happened. and it won't make her any happier."

the parlourmaid returned with a parcel.

"oh yes, i know what that is," said lilian. "just cut the string and put it down here, will you?"

"miss jackson is waiting to see you'm. will you see her or shall i ask her to call to-night?"

"miss jackson!" lilian exclaimed, agitated by the swiftness of the sequence of events. "has she been waiting long?"

"no'm. only about twenty minutes."

"why didn't you tell me before?"

"i thought you ought to have your tea quiet'm."

"how nice of you!" said lilian, with a weak, acquiescent smile. "but do ask her to come in here now. she won't mind me being in bed, will she?"

"i should hope not'm," said the parlourmaid, pawing the ground.

lilian pushed her lustreless hair out of her eyes. the sun was shining on part of the tumbled bed. then gertie jackson came in. absolutely unchanged! the same neat, provincial, islingtonian toilette. the same serious, cheerful, ingenuous gaze. the same unmarred complexion. the same upright pose and throwing back of the shoulders in unconscious rectitude and calm intention to front courageously the difficulties of the day. the same mingling of self-respect and deference. she bent over the bed; lilian held up her face like a child with mute invitation, and gertie kissed her. what a fresh, honest, innocent, ignorant kiss on lilian's hot, wasted, experienced cheek!

"you poor thing!" gertrude murmured devotedly.

"i'm seven months gone nearly," lilian murmured, as if in despair.

"well, it'll soon be over, then!" said gertie buoyantly, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"yes, but shall i ever again be like i was?" lilian demanded gloomily.

"of course you will, dear. and prettier. they almost always are, you know. i've often noticed it."

"you dear!" cried lilian, "and do you mean to say you've got up earlier and come all the way down from islington here to see me before going to the office? and me keeping you waiting!"

"why! but of course i came. i'm responsible to you, now poor miss grig's gone. i told her i would be. and i can't tell you how glad i shall be if i suit you and you find you can keep me on. it's such a good situation."

lilian lifted her face again and kissed her--but not the kiss of gratitude (though there was gratitude in it), the kiss of recompense, of reward. it was lilian who, in allowing herself to be faithfully served, was conferring the favour. gertrude was the eternal lieutenant, without ambition, without dreams, asking only to serve with loyalty in security. in that moment lilian understood as never before the function of these priceless gertrudes whose first instinct when they lost one master was to attach themselves to another.

"look here!" said lilian. "d'you know what i want? i want you to come and live here till it's over."

"of course i will," gertrude agreed, eagerly ready to abandon her domestic habits and interior for as long as she was required to do so, and to resume them whenever it might suit lilian's convenience. and all because lilian had been beautiful and successful, and would be beautiful and successful once more!

"you must come to-night, will you?" lilian insisted, transformed in a moment into the spoilt and exacting queen.

gertrude nodded, brightly beaming.

"i do so want to talk to you," lilian went on. "i've had nobody to talk to for--i mean like you. d'you know, felix would have been alive now if it hadn't been for me." she burst into tears, and then, recovering, began an interminable detailed recital of events on the riviera, coupled with a laudation of felix. she revelled in it, and was shameless, well aware that gertrude would defend her against herself. the relief which she felt was intense.

at the end of half an hour, when the torrent had slackened, gertrude said:

"i really think i'd better be going now. what time would you like me to come to-night? i'm quite free because i'm not taking night duty this week. it's milly's week." and as she was leaving she turned back rather nervously to the bed. "d'you mind me suggesting one thing? i wouldn't have you over-tire yourself; but if you could just show yourself at the office, i feel it would be such a good thing for all of us. the girls would understand then who the new employer is. some of them are very stupid, you know. if you could just show yourself--a quarter of an hour. it's for your own sake, dear."

"as i am? i mean--you know----"

"why not?"

"but would they----"

"of course not," blandly and firmly decided gertrude, who had been brought up in islington, where the enterprise of procreation proceeds on an important scale and in a straightforward spirit. strange that in gertrude's virginal mentality such realism could coexist with such innocent ingenuousness! but it was so.

when gertrude had left, lilian opened the parcel. it was from dr. samson and contained two books recommended and promised by him about preparing for motherhood, and motherhood, and cognate matters. the mere titles of the chapters entranced her.