long since found peace. And Frederick, from her passionately loved
bridegroom, from her worshipped young husband, had become second only
to God on her list of duties and forbearances. There he hung, the
second in importance, a bloodless thing bled white by her prayers. For
years she had been able to be happy only by forgetting happiness. She
wanted to stay like that. She wanted to shut out everything that would
remind her of beautiful things, that might set her off again long,
desiring . . .

"I'd like so much to be friends," she said earnestly. "Won't you
come and see me, or let me come to you sometimes? Whenever you feel as
if you wanted to talk. I'll give you my address"--she searched in her
handbag--"and then you won't forget." And she found a card and held
it out.

Mrs. Wilkins ignored the card.

"It's so funny," said Mrs. Wilkins, just as if she had not heard
her, "But I see us both--you and me--this April in the mediaeval
castle."

Mrs. Arbuthnot relapsed into uneasiness. "Do you?" she said,
making an effort to stay balanced under the visionary gaze of the
shining grey eyes. "Do you?"

"Don't you ever see things in a kind of flash before they
happen?" asked Mrs. Wilkins.

"Never," said Mrs. Arbuthnot.