with the pretence of eating her breakfast.

"Or an invitation to dine with Mrs. Simpson," he suggested, laughingly,
as he rose. "It's just the stationery she would choose."

Honora dropped her spoon in her egg-cup. It instantly became evident,
however, that his remark was casual and not serious, for he gathered up
his mail and departed. Her hand trembled a little as she opened the
letter, and for a moment the large gold monogram of its sender danced
before her eyes.

"Dear Madam, Permit me to thank you in the name of the Trustees of
the Grenoble Hospital for your generous contribution, and believe
me, Sincerely yours,

"MARIA W. SIMPSON."

The sheet fluttered to the floor.

When Sunday came, for the first time her courage failed her. She had
heard the wind complaining in the night, and the day dawned wild and wet.
She got so far as to put on a hat and veil and waterproof coat; Starling
had opened the doors, and through the frame of the doorway, on the wet
steps, she saw the footman in his long mackintosh, his umbrella raised to
escort her to the carriage. Then she halted, irresolute. The impassive
old butler stood on the sill, a silent witness, she knew, to the struggle
going on within her. It seemed ridiculous indeed to play out the comedy
with him, who could have recited the lines. And yet she turned to him.

"Starling, you may send the coachman back to the stable."