for her then it must be of her own making. She had been shown
almost unbelievable kindness, nothing had been omitted to make her
happy. The contrast of her life only a few weeks ago and now was
immeasurable. What more did she want? Was she so selfish that she
could even think of the unhappiness that was over? Shame filled
her, and she raised her eyes to the woman beside her with a sudden
rush of gratitude and love. But Miss Craven, interested at last in
her game, was blind to her surroundings, and with a little smile
Gillian turned her attention to the silent occupant of the chair
near her. Craven had come into the room a few minutes before. He
was leaning back listlessly, one hand shading his face, a
neglected cigarette dangling from the other. She looked at him
long and earnestly, wondering, as she always wondered, what
association there had been between him and such a man as her
father--what had induced him to take upon himself the burden that
had been laid upon him. And her cheeks grew hot again at the
thought of the encumbrance she was to him. It was preposterous
that he should be so saddled!

She stifled a sigh and her eyes grew dreamy as she fell to
thinking of the future that lay before her. And as she planned
with eager confidence her hand moved soothingly over the dog's
head in measure to the languorous waltz that Peters was playing.

After a sudden unexpected chord the player rose from the piano and
joined the circle at the other end of the room. Miss Craven was
shuffling vigorously. "Thank you, Peter," she said, with a smiling
nod, "it's like old times to hear you play again. Gillian thinks
you have missed your vocation, she would like to see you at the
Queen's Hall."