laughter there lay a hurt which had not healed, the ultimate effect and
consequence of which she was afraid to contemplate.




CHAPTER IV

THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD

"Nan, may I introduce Mr. Mallory?"

It was the evening of Kitty's little dinner--a cosy gathering of
sympathetic souls, the majority of whom were more or less intimately
known to each other.

"As you both have French blood in your veins, you can chant the
Marseillaise in unison." And with a nod and smile Kitty passed on to
where her husband was chatting with Ralph Fenton, the well-known
baritone, and a couple of members of Parliament. Each of them had cut
a niche of his own in the world, for Kitty was discriminating in her
taste, and the receptions at her house in Green Street were always duly
seasoned with the spice of brains and talent.

As Nan looked up into the face of the man whose acquaintance she had
already made in such curious fashion, the thought flashed through her
mind that here, in his partly French blood was the explanation of his
unusual colouring--black brows and lashes contrasting so oddly with the
kinky fair hair which, despite the barber's periodical shearing and the
fervent use of a stiff-bristled hair-brush, still insisted on springing