burning in the gallery behind her. The appearance of the wish for
concealment was merely the unconscious expression of her mental
condition at the moment.

Two women looked up in surprise as she made this unconsciously dramatic
entrance into her guest's bedroom. Lady Rose was sitting in front of the
uncurtained window in a loose, white dressing-gown, lifting a mass of
her golden hair with her hair brush. She had been talking eagerly, but
vaguely, before her hostess came in, in order to conceal the fact that
she wished intensely to be allowed to go to bed.

Lady Rose made many such minor sacrifices on the altar of charity, and
she was sorry for the tall, thin, mysterious girl who, at first almost
impossibly stiff and cold, had volunteered a visit to her room to-night.
It was only a very few who were ever asked to come into Rose's room,
and she had hastily covered the miniature of her dead husband in his
uniform with her small fan before she admitted Molly.

By some strange impulse, Molly had attached herself to Rose during the
rest of that Easter Sunday. Curiosity, admiration, or jealousy might
have accounted for Molly's doing this. To herself it seemed merely part
of her determination to face the position without fear or fancies. If
Lady Rose found out later with whom she had spent those hours, at least
she should not think that Molly had been embarrassed. Perhaps, too, Sir
Edmund's efforts to keep them apart made her more anxious to be with
her.

Having been kindly welcomed to Rose's room, Molly found herself slightly
embarrassed; they seemed to have used up all common topics during the
day, and Molly was certainly not prepared to be confidential.