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chocolate. Or—wait a minute—would you rather have coffee or chocolate, Guy?"

"Coffee for me."

"Coffee, then. And hurry, Marie."

She went across to the window and stood gazing out at her little garden, bright with flowers, over which, paler, more fragrant, than her own lavender, the summer dusk was flowing.

"There's a bat!" she said. "We shall soon have to light the lamps. Can you see to read your letter? "Lina!"

Something violent in his voice made her turn sharply,

every nerve on edge.

"What is it? What's the matter? Guy, Guy, what s

the matter?"

He jumped up, crumpling the letter in his hand. It was now too dark to see his face with any clearness, but she was afraid, and ran to him, groping for his hand. _ "Have you had bad news, Guy? Teil me, darling,

please teil me!"

"Oh, it's nothing," he said in rather a stramed voice,

"nothing to worry about for the moment, anyhow, my dear. Only . . . it's that my uncle's ill, with bronchitis not dangerously ill, please don't think that, but . . . well, this letter's from my aunt, who always must make a tremendous to-do about everything."

"I see," Lina said. Her tone was thoughtful.

"Lina."

"What is it?"

"I know this is going to upset you, but I really thmk I shall have to go back to England for a short time. You see, my aunt, as I have told you, worries herself to death whenever my uncle has got anything at all the matter with him, and I know that she would like to feel that I was on my way home. But, my sweet, you must be brave,

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