"My dear Gwen,

"I hope you understand that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the 3rd. You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are making no progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble!

"The question is, where you will go on the 3rd?"

Here Gwen's heart gave a thump of alarm and dismay.

"It is all off with your cousin Bridget. She writes that she can't have you, because she has to be in town unexpectedly. This is only an excuse. I am disappointed but not surprised, after that record behaviour to me when the war broke out and after promising that I should be in her show in France, and then backing out of it. Exactly why, I found out only yesterday! You remember that General X. had actually to separate two of the 'angels' that were flitting about on their work of mercy and had come to blows over it. Well, one of the two was your cousin Bridget. That didn't get photographed in the papers. It would have looked sweet. But now I'm going to give you a scolding. Bridget did get wind of your muddling about at the Ringwood's little hospital this summer, and spending all your time and energy on a man who I told you was no use. What's the good of talking any more about it? I've talked till I'm blue--and yet you will no doubt go and do the same thing again.

"I ought not to have to tell you that if you do come across any stray Undergraduates, don't go for them. Nothing will come of it.

Try and keep this in your noddle. Go for Dr. Middleton--men of that age are often silliest about girls--and don't simply go mooning along. Then why did you go and lose your umbrella? You have nothing in this wide world to think of but to keep yourself and your baggage together.

"It's the second you have lost this year. I can't afford another.

You must 'borrow' one. Your new winter rig-out is more than I can afford. I'm being dunned for bills that have only run two years. Why can't I make you realise all this? What is the matter with you? Give the maid who waits on you half a crown, nothing to the butler. Lady D. is sure to see you off--and you can leave the taxi to her. Leave your laundry bill at the back of a drawer--as if you had mislaid it.

I will send you a P.O. for your ticket to Stow."

Here Gwen made a pause, for her heart was thumping loudly.

"There's nothing for it but to go to Nana's cottage at Stow for the moment. I know it's beastly dull for you--but it's partly your own fault that you are to have a dose of Stow. I'm full up for two months and more, but I'll see what I can do for you at once. I am writing to Mrs. Greenleafe Potten, to ask her if she will have you for a week on Monday, but I'm afraid she won't. At Stow you won't need anything but a few stamps and a penny for Sunday collection.

I've written to Nana. She only charges me ten shillings a week for you. She will mend up your clothes and make two or three blouses for you into the bargain. Don't attempt to help her. They must be done properly. Get on with that flannelette frock for the Serb relief.

Address me still here.

"Your very loving,

"Mother."

Nana's cottage at Stow! Thatch smelling of the November rains; a stuffy little parlour with a smoky fire. Forlorn trees outside shedding their last leaves into the ditch at the side of the lane. Her old nurse, nearly stone deaf, as her sole companion.

Gwen felt her knees trembling under her. Her eyes smarted and a great sob came into her throat. She had no home. n.o.body wanted her!

CHAPTER III

Pa.s.sIONATE PITY

A tear fell upon the envelope in her hand, and one fell upon the red carpet under her feet. She must try and not cry, crying made one ugly.

She must go to her room as quickly as she could.

Then came noiselessly out from the curtained door at Gwen's right hand the figure of Dr. Middleton. He was already dressed for dinner, his face composed and dignified as usual, but preoccupied as if the business of the day was not over. There were these letters waiting for him on the table. He came on, and Gwen, blinded by a big tear in each eye, vaguely knew that he stooped and swept up the letters in his hand. Then he turned his face towards her in his slow, deliberate way and looked. She closed her eyes, and the two tears squeezed between the lids, ran down her cheeks leaving the delicate rosy skin wet and shining under the electric light.

Tears had rarely been seen by the Warden: never--in fact--until lately!

He was startled by them and disconcerted.

"Has anything happened?" he asked. "Anything serious?" It would need to be something very serious for tears!

The gentleness of his voice only made the desolation in Gwen's heart the more poignant. In a week's time she would have to leave this beautiful kindly little home, this house of refuge. The fear she had had before of the Warden vanished at his sudden tenderness of tone; he seemed now something to cling to, something solid and protective that belonged to the world of ease and comfort, of good things; things to be desired above all else, and from which she was going to be cruelly banished--to Stow. She made a convulsive noise somewhere in her young throat, but was inarticulate.

There came sounds of approaching steps. The Warden hesitated but only for a moment. He moved to the door of the library.

"Come in here," he said, a little peremptorily, and he turned and opened it for Gwen.

Gwen slid within and moving blindly, knocked herself against the protruding wing of his book-shelves. That made the Warden vexed with somebody, the somebody who had made the child cry so much that she couldn't see where she was going. He closed the door behind her.

"You have bad news in that letter?" he asked. "Your mother is not ill?"

Gwen shook her head and stared upon the floor, her lips twitching.

"Anything you can talk over with Lady Dashwood?" he asked.

"No," was the stifled answer with a shake of the dark head.

"Can you tell me about it? I might be able to advise, help you?"

"No!" This time the sound was long drawn out with a shrill sob.

What was to be done?

"Try not to cry!" he said gently. "Tell me what it is all about. If you need help--perhaps I can help you!"

So much protecting sympathy given to her, after that letter, made Gwen feel the joy of utter weakness in the presence of strength, of saving support.

"Shall I read that letter?" he asked, putting out his hand.

Gwen clutched it tighter. No, no, that would be fatal! He laid his hand upon hers. Gwen began to tremble. She shook from head to foot, even her teeth chattered. She held tight on to that letter--but she leaned nearer to him.

"Then," said the Warden, without removing his hand, "tell me what is troubling you? It is something in that letter?"

Gwen moved her lips and made a great effort to speak.

"It's--it's nothing!" she said.

"Nothing!" repeated the Warden, just a little sternly.

This was too much for Gwen, the tears rose again swiftly into her eyes and began to drop down her cheeks. "It's only----" she began.

"Yes, tell me," said the Warden, coaxingly, for those tears hurt him, "tell me, child, never mind what it is."

"It's only--," she began again, and now her teeth chattered, "only--that n.o.body cares what happens to me--I've got no home!"