He spoke rather wearily, but contrived a smile as Nan entered, carrying a
cup of coffee in her hand.

"My compliments, Nan. Your coffee equals that of any Frenchwoman."

"A reversion to type. Don't forget that Angèle de Varincourt is always
at the back of me."

St. John laughed and drank his coffee appreciatively, and after a little
further desultory conversation took his departure, leaving the two girls
alone together.

"Isn't he a perfect old dear?" said Nan.

"Yes," agreed Penelope. "He is. And he absolutely spoils you."

Nan gave a little grin.

"I really think he does--a bit. Imagine it, Penny, after our strenuous
economies! Six hundred a year in addition to our hard-earned pence!
Within limits it really does mean pretty frocks, and theatres, and taxis
when we want them."

Penelope smiled at her riotous satisfaction. Nan lived tremendously in
the present--her capacity for enjoyment and for suffering was so intense
that every little pleasure magnified itself and each small fret and jar
became a minor tragedy.

But Penelope was acutely conscious that beneath all the surface tears and