As a friend and as a needlewoman, Coral was indefatigable. Laura’s trousseau absorbed her and she ended, with the marked approval of Mrs. Cloud and Aunt Adela, not only in converting the roll of lawn into a pile of delectable garments, but in annexing the quarter’s dress-money which Laura had intended spending on a garden hat, a complete set of the poems of Mr. Alfred Noyes, and a birthday present for the twins, who, installed in a counting-house and chambers, and very much men about town, were nevertheless desperately in need, Laura dear, (if any one wants to know, you know) of basket-chairs and summer pants.

Laura, contemplating the silk and muslin for which Coral, in conclave with Mrs. Cloud, had exchanged that elastic seven pounds ten, did not know whether to be allured or incensed.

“It’s sweet of you, of course. They’re delicious. But such waste, Coral! They’ll go out of fashion. I’m not going to be married tomorrow!”

Coral rubbed her nose in that meditative way of hers that was disastrous to her complexion.

“How long have you been engaged?”

“Oh, about a year.”

“A year! Why on earth don’t you get married?”

“It’s never been quite convenient. We were going to last spring, but then the chance came to join that expedition——”

Coral interrupted her.

“Laura, tell me honestly—do you enjoy fiddling about over birds’ eggs?”

Laura flushed.

“Why, I know as much about them as Justin. He said so the other day. If he were in doubt about a bird, I believe he’d listen to me. I’m longer-sighted, you know. He would, honestly, if he hadn’t made up his mind.”

“Is he ever wrong?” Coral’s voice was colourless.

“I’ve never known him wrong,” said Laura in all gravity. “Only, of course, he sometimes changes his mind. And that’s what always annoys me so, you know, that I never really know why he does. But I suppose when one’s married——?”

“No,” said Coral thoughtfully. “No. Oh, of course, after a time you’ll get to know what they’ll do always, but you never really know why they do it.”

“That’s what makes it difficult,” Laura sighed.

“How—difficult?”

“Well, to keep in step, I mean. You see, he’ll think Carson a sort of Cromwell for months, and I get hardened to the Daily Mail and read up William and Mary so as to back him against Gran’papa, and then, all of a sudden—well, he’s Home Rule at present. It makes it a little difficult for me.”

Coral stared, with all the indifference of her class and her type to that particular amusement of its men-folk.

“Oh, politics! I shouldn’t worry about politics. As if one had time for an opinion about politics!”

Laura, with other blood in her veins, stared in her turn.

“But naturally I’ve an opinion! I’m not a fool! Only—” she began to laugh—“I don’t let on.”

“Why?” But Coral looked as if she knew.

“Well, you see,” Laura warmed to her engrossing subject, “he says he thinks that every one ought to stick to their own ideas and be independent. But he always thinks (and you know, Gran’papa’s just the same) that it’s amazing that the people who disagree with him can be so intolerant and impervious to reason. So I always begin by disagreeing and let him argue it out. And then I see his point and he thinks how sensible I am. And if I know beforehand what he’s going to say about a thing I say it quickly first. Then he nods at me, as if anyhow he were always sure of me.”

“Well, of all the hypocrites——”

“It isn’t. Don’t you see?”

Coral looked at her kindly.

“Oh, in a way I suppose, it is—” Laura sighed. “But—but I don’t believe it’s wrong. You see—Justin’s so straight-forward. If he’s in a mood—well, he’s in a mood. He couldn’t suppress himself for the sake of—oh, politeness or amusing people or being pleasant. He wouldn’t know how to. But, my dear, if I started that—being myself—it wouldn’t work. Suppose I were in a depressed mood one day when Justin was cheerful and stuck to my mood instead of slipping into his? Why, he wouldn’t know what was happening. He’d ask if I’d got toothache. He’d be bored to death.”

Coral was looking interested.

“Considering the little fool you can be, you know something about men. Where d’you get it from, Laura?”

“Birds’ eggs,” said Laura with a twinkle.

“Oho! Now I see! Well, fire ahead! ‘Justin would be bored.’ Not that that would hurt him.”

“No, but, he’d go home. And if I were myself for a week he’d go home for good. I’d lose him. And then I’d die.”

“You won’t keep it up when you’re married,” said Coral, with her esoteric smile.

“I shall. Always and always and always. Every day till the last minute of my life. What does it matter? I’m happy. But it’s all nonsense to say that two plants can grow in one pot. It doesn’t work. They haven’t room. But you can graft one on to the other as a rule. I’m grafted on to Justin. Oh, I daresay I’d have been a showier plant in a pot of my own; but it’s too late to ungraft me now. I’d shrivel. I’m rooted in Justin.”

Coral, demolishing that theory of life, was Jael and her hammer in one.

“That’s crazy. That doesn’t work. Suppose he died? What’s the use of shuddering? He might. It’s not common sense to get so fond of any one. It’s not fair to yourself.”

Laura smiled.

“You needn’t worry about me.”

“And—” Coral had an odd, fugitive air of resenting the happy light in Laura’s eyes—“it’s not fair to him.”

The light faded. Laura began anxiously——

“Not fair? What do you mean—not fair?”

“Only that you’ll spoil him, if you haven’t already, you and Grannie between you. And I’ll tell you another thing. Haven’t you found out yet, you little fool, that a man doesn’t want to be loved? He wants to do that himself. He’ll think all the world of you if you make him feel like loving you; but he won’t say thank-you if you just love him. Don’t tell me! I know men.”

“Oh—men!” said Laura disdainfully.

“Well, Justin’s not a cherub, is he? He’s not just a face and a boa.”

“I don’t think,” said Laura, with careful forbearance, “that perhaps you quite understand Justin. He’s not quite ordinary, you know. He wants a lot of understanding.”

“Oh, go along!” said Coral.

“Oh, I’m going. I’m going through the woods with Justin. We fixed it yesterday. Come too? It would do you good.”

But Coral only shrugged her shoulders with an air that Laura thought ungracious. It had been an effort, though she liked her, to ask Coral to join them. But she had been struck by a certain dreariness in Coral’s pose, as she moved aimlessly across the room. The room itself, as she looked at it, deepened the effect, for it was curious how Coral, in spite of the well-trained housemaids, had contrived to make her comfortable quarters appear squalid. Her windows were more than shut, they insisted that they had never been opened. Pink powder had been spilled: soiled blue ribbons, a string of pearl beads, and the switch that did not match Coral’s hair by daylight, hung, entangled, from a half-shut drawer. Coral had been lying down when Laura came in, and the state of Mrs. Cloud’s embroidered quilt would have moved even tolerant Mrs. Cloud. Her book and her slippers had been flung across the room and the skirt out of which she had stepped still lay, a pool of silk, upon the floor. Yet she herself remained as neat as a hair-net and tight corsets could make her. That, thought Laura, who was untidy in other fashion, was what amazed one so in Coral. She was like a trim yacht in a scummy harbour, incongruously yet indubitably anchored and at home. The spectacle distressed Laura, too young to think it right to let people be comfortable in their own way; but it distressed her still more to think of Coral sitting there moping all the afternoon. She was afraid she had talked too much—she had forgotten how near a cry it was from Justin to John.... Poor Coral!... It wasn’t fair to tell of blue skies to a blind man.... She couldn’t leave Coral to sit by herself in that pig-sty and brood....

She turned back into the room.

“Look here, Coral—you’ve got to come out with us.”

“Wouldn’t Justin be pleased!” said Coral, without moving.

“Of course he would,” Laura lied stoutly.

Coral winked.

It is difficult to be a Samaritan when the object of your solicitude winks at you; but Laura managed it.

“Where’s your hat?” she insisted. “It’ll do you good, a walk.”

“I know when I’m not wanted, thank-you,” said Coral, without expression. But Laura thought she understood.

“If you mean—because of us——” She blushed faintly, stumbling over her words, “There’s nothing—you needn’t—”

“Oh, I know that!” And again Carol’s instant comprehension of all that Laura was not herself sure she meant, was disconcerting. “But—” she hesitated; then, rapidly, not looking at Laura, “but Johnnie’s brother hasn’t much use for Johnnie’s wife, if you want to know—and he doesn’t care who knows it.”

“That’s not true,” Laura’s head went up. How dare Coral—Coral!—criticize Justin?

“It’s perfectly true.” Coral eyed her steadily.

“You’ve no right to say such a beastly thing about him. I won’t allow it.”

“All right, dearie. Have it your own way. But it’s true, and you know it’s true, else you wouldn’t be so hopping mad.”

“Now listen to me, Coral,” Laura tried to be calm and forbearing. “I’m not angry with you. I only want you to understand. You’re unjust. You don’t know how good Justin is. It’s dreadful to accuse him of—of——” she hesitated. Then she tried again. “Oh, surely,” she protested, “you know his little ways by now.”

“Oh, I know ’em,” Coral laughed.

“Yes, but you’ve no right to laugh like that.” Then, disarmingly, “Oh, I understand, of course. But Justin—he hasn’t the faintest idea that he isn’t always nice to you. He’d be horrified. He’d be hurt. Because I know he tries to be jolly to you in his own way.”

“Isn’t it kind of him?” said Coral.

Laura stamped.

“I won’t talk to you. You’re impossible. Just because he’s not a man of words! You wait till you’re in a hole, that’s all, then you’ll see.”

Coral turned on her fiercely.

“Well, I am in a hole. And I have seen.”

Laura stared. There were actually tears in Coral’s expressionless eyes as she launched into passionate speech.

“Oh, Laura, Laura, it’s such a chance! Didn’t you hear him the other night, talking about Willy—Mr. Wilbraham—as if they were pals?”

“That funny little actor man? Oh, yes, he’s been here often. Justin and he were at college together.”

“Willy!” Coral swept on unheeding. “I couldn’t believe my ears. Willy! He runs half the shows in London. Why—why—you’re made if he takes you. Think of it! To get into London! To get one’s chance!” She began to walk up and down the room. “I—I can’t stick here, you know. Grannie knows too. I’ve scared Brackenhurst already. And there’s the child. Don’t I know what’ll happen? Can’t I see it happening? Do you think I don’t hear you all, petting him and curing his accent, and teaching him your ways? He’ll be correcting me in a year or two—my own son! Oh, I know what’s good for him. Grannie and Justin will send him to school. It’s his right. I shan’t stand in his light. But I can’t sit here and watch it. Besides, I must act. I love it. I love my job. It’s meat and drink to me. And Justin comes so superior and talks at me in Johnnie’s voice, talks about settling me comfortably. I don’t want his damned allowance!”

“Coral, Coral!” Laura caught at the working fingers.

“And I don’t want your pity either. I can run my own show. You—I don’t know why I talk to you, you’re such a little fool.” Yet Coral let herself be pulled down on to Laura’s knee. “But if you want to know, I asked him—I did ask him—if he’d give me an introduction to Wilbraham. I did ask him that. It wouldn’t have cost him a farthing.”

“But Justin didn’t refuse?”

“Oh, he didn’t refuse. But he made feel me what cheek he thought it. I don’t ask him again. But oh, Laura, they’ve got a new show coming on at the Fleur-de-Lys. I’ve heard from a pal—a dead secret—no parts given yet. And there’s one that’s mine—absolutely! I know it! My chance—if I could only get hold of Willy. But you know what he is. Nobody can get near Willy without an introduction.”

Laura rose with decision.

“Justin didn’t understand. I’ll speak to him. Of course he’ll write to Mr. Wilbraham. He’ll be only too glad.”

Coral clutched at her.

“You darling! Oh, you darling! Laura, if you worked that for me, I’d——” She choked.

Her excitement was as pathetic as it was incomprehensible to Laura. She laughed and said——

“When ought you to go?”

“At once. Grannie won’t mind. We’ve talked things out already, Timmy and everything. If I went up this afternoon——”

“Oh, Coral! And miss the dinner-party next week?” A dinner-party, even a dinner-party in honour of the new curate and the twins’ holiday, was an event to Laura.

“My dear, I can’t help it. If I’m to get the part I must be up in town at once. I’d go to my pal’s for the night and get details—to know how to dress up to the part. This won’t do.” She plucked at her black skirt. Then anxiously, “Oh, but are you sure he’ll write?”

“Don’t you worry. You go and talk to Grannie.”

Laura’s security infected even Coral. She flung her arms about her neck again.

“You dear! You dear! You utter dear!”

Laura laughed and left her.

When she came back she was radiant.

“What did I tell you? Of course he will! I told you so! I knew he would! He said—why ever didn’t you tell him? He never took it in that you really wanted it. He says he’ll write tonight. What did I tell you? He says he’d better write privately to Mr. Wilbraham, instead of just giving you a bearer note. He was perfectly sweet. I knew he would be. Now will you own you’re wrong?”

Coral, in her gratitude, would have owned anything.

Laura ran on.

“Yes, and we can’t go out after all, because he’s just heard about that cabinet. You know—the one he ordered for the new eggs. It may arrive today, and he’s got to superintend them carrying it up if it comes. I’m rather glad. The woods are sopping and I know I’ve a cold coming on. So I’ll be able to see you off. Have you looked up trains? Does Mrs. Cloud approve? You will let us know at once, won’t you? Justin said he’d write most floriferously. I knew he’d be nice. He didn’t expect the cabinet this week. He’s as excited as you are.”

Laura was excited herself—pardonably triumphant. It was a solution for so much. The difficulties with Timothy—Mrs. Cloud—(Coral, though she were fond of her, had been, she could guess, a strain upon Mrs. Cloud) Justin’s own discomfort—Coral’s unrest—all had been dispelled by Justin. Justin might have his ways, but underneath those ways what a truly satisfactory Justin he was! She could not help rubbing it in as she drove Coral to the station. She hoped Coral was properly confounded—Coral, with her strictures and criticisms and her knowledge of men.

She said good-bye to her with relief and regret and triumph. Her cold was worse the next day, and on the next she was in bed. It was the beginning of the week before she was about again. It was the middle of the week before she found a letter on her breakfast plate.

She did not know the handwriting, but the deep lavender of the paper and the cheap ink had a familiar look, were in affinity with the lace blouses and the scent and the ear-rings to which she had grown accustomed. She did not even glance at the signature, so sure was she that the letter was from Coral.

I’ve got a job! Got it Tuesday, but I couldn’t write before—been too rushed with clothes. I went to the Fleur-de-Lys first thing—but no go. Wouldn’t look at me. Never got near any one, not even the A.S.M., let alone Willy. It can’t be helped, but I am sick—because the girl who’s got it, I heard today, is just my type. If I could have only got at Willy! I know she can’t walk across a stage even—just an elderly, academy flapper, because she was with me in a fit-up once. But she’s a friend of the S.M.—’Nuff said! Well, dearie—the end of it was I got so fed up doing the rounds—Whitney asked me if I’d walk on—me! I could have slapped his face—and yet I wanted to howl—I’ve got all soft among you dears—and then coming out I barged bang into old Stevenson—you know I told you how Johnnie used to kick up such a fuss about him—and my dear, he’s taking out a tour—Africa—a year’s job at least, and possibly India and Australia afterwards, and even America. Stock. And he’s offered me to share leads with Phoebe Desborough! She’s a good sort—decent—I’ve digged with her before now and—well, I’ve accepted it. The money’s not much, but they provide the costumes and I know most of the crowd, and Stevie and I have always been pals—in fact, I shouldn’t be surprised——Stop it, Coral!

But it’s something settled anyway. That Wilbraham business did for me—I’d counted so. You never know your luck, do you? I expect Justin did what he could—but oh, if I’d only been able to see Willy!

We start Saturday—it’ll be an awful scramble. I suppose you and Justin wouldn’t come and see me off? Don’t bring Tim. I’ve written to Grannie. We talked things out, you know. And I know she won’t set him against me. I know that, else I’d never let her have him. But it’s best for him. I’m not quite a fool. The train leaves Victoria 2.15. If Timmy misses me—but you’d better not bring him. Wish I could have got the London job. Well—it’s done now. Justin will get up on his hind legs and prance, but I can’t help it. Grannie won’t, anyway. She’ll understand. She’s worth all the rest of you put together. That’s why I let her have Timmy. You’ll look after Timmy?

Laura hurried on to the immense Coral Cloud sprawling across the last page and smiled absently at a sudden memory of Coral expatiating on the effectiveness of her stage name: “So catchy! The Cherry-Pie Tooth-Paste people were after it once! wanted a signed photo. Only Johnnie struck—the billy! It’s quite worth while! They don’t pay cash, of course, but you get their creams for nothing.”

Justin had been wooden as he listened.

But her smile died away as she read the letter again. She could not understand what had happened. It had been Coral’s business and Coral’s alone to prove her capacity; but Justin had definitely promised to write in such a way that the interview at least, would be assured her. Justin was no tall talker. If he said he could do that much, Laura knew that he could do it. Besides, she herself had more than once met the elusive Mr. Wilbraham at the Priory ... a nice quiet man.... She knew that he and Justin were friends.... Odd.... It was certainly odd.... Had the letter miscarried? Because of course—of course Justin had written.... There was no question of that....

She went puzzling up to the Priory to find that Mrs. Cloud had also received a letter, carefully written and carefully spelled—poor Coral at her grateful stilted best; but it was nearly all about Timothy. There was no mention of the Fleur-de-Lys or Mr. Wilbraham.

They discussed the matter with beautifully concealed uneasiness.

“Well—” Laura began, and then most cheerfully, “oh well—”

Mrs. Cloud drummed with her fingers.

“After all, it’s her life,” Laura argued.

“Yes. Yes, of course. And she writes most sensibly about Timothy.”

“Oh, Coral’s very sensible,” said Laura eagerly. She was glad to praise Coral, to be loyal and affectionate to Coral, in atonement for the vague wrong that nobody had done Coral.

“Yes, she’s a dear, good girl!” Mrs. Cloud’s tone matched Laura’s. “I wish—I wish she could have stayed in England—have kept in touch—” And then, “I suppose—that part——?”

“Oh, I expect there were hundreds of applicants,” said Laura hastily, refusing to remember Coral’s excitement—“A dead secret—keeping it dark—you know what Willy is!”

“Most probably she wasn’t suitable,” said Mrs. Cloud.

“One never knows,” Laura was evasive. “Is Justin in? I haven’t seen him since Coral left.”

Mrs. Cloud’s face brightened as the sky does when a cloud has slid from the moon.

“I know. He’s wanted you. He’s been so busy. The new cabinet came that same afternoon.”

“Oh!” said Laura slowly. “Oh—the cabinet came the same afternoon.” And then—“I think I’ll go up to him.”

She went out of the room quietly, with none of her usual joyous flurry. Mrs. Cloud did not watch her go. Indeed they had not once met each other’s eyes as they talked together.

Justin’s room was full of cotton-wool, and disembowelled cupboards, and drawers piled criss-cross on each other, and a Justin so happily absorbed that Laura knew she should have laughed and blessed him and settled down to help. But she could not. Even his welcome did not warm her as she stood in the doorway and watched him.

“Here you are! Good! I nearly came round for you yesterday. Now look here—would you put——” He went into details.

She spoke through them.

“Justin—you did write that letter, didn’t you?”

“But then Bellew has cases with glass tops. What letter?”

“To Mr. Wilbraham. About Coral.”

“Oh! No—not yet. I don’t believe I have.”

“Justin! And you promised Coral.”

“Well—I did mean to. I’m going to. I’ll write tonight.”

“You needn’t,” said Laura without expression. “The part’s filled.”

“Oh, well! there’ll be another soon,” said Justin comfortably. “I’m sorry. I really am sorry. But what with this arriving—isn’t it a beauty? You haven’t half looked at it, Laura!—and getting things straight again—I simply hadn’t time.”

“You hadn’t time!”

The contempt in her voice startled them both—stung like a whip; but she hurt herself more than she hurt him. She had not realized that it was possible to feel like that to Justin. She was frightened at herself.

But Justin was annoyed. He did not feel guilty, he felt injured. He was quite sure he hadn’t had time.

“Oh, shut up, Laura!” he adjured her, and then, with gathering indignation—“Look here, you know—shut up!” and so retired into the silence that awaits apologies.

But something was wrong with Laura that day. She too was silent, with a difference in the quality of her silence that disturbed him. Where he was dignified, she was ominous. Glancing across at her he found her studying him and his occupation with an impersonal, appraising air that altered her whole face: and she had grown white, so white that he noticed it—that is to say, he thought to himself that she was looking plain that morning. But when she did speak she was outrageous—

“Justin! do you know—I think you’re almost selfish.”

That was the way, you see, that she talked to him when he was up to his eyes in work!

“Oh?” said Justin, bearing with her. And then, in sudden heat—“Because I forgot to write a letter!”

“Oh—you didn’t forget,” she said in her lowest voice.

“Oh?” said Justin again.

“You didn’t forget. You just put it off and put it off, because you didn’t like the bother, because you didn’t like Coral.”

“Well, I don’t!” he flung at her. “She’d get on any one’s nerves.”

“Oh well, she won’t bother you any more. She’s going abroad. Touring.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“My dear girl! it’s her own doing. We’ve offered her a home and income. She need never see a theatre again.”

Laura looked at him in a sort of despair.

“What’s the use of saying that? Do you know what you’re saying? ‘Oh, Sunflower, I’ve such a nice cellar for you! If you’ll come and live in it, you never need see the sun!’”

“You’re talking absolute nonsense,” said Justin austerely.

“I’m not. It’s you. You can no more put yourself in another person’s place——You can no more imagine how Coral feels——”

He looked at her, on that, with something of the despair with which she had looked at him.

“Look here, old girl,” he began, with heavy patience, “you mayn’t believe me, but honestly, if I’d had any idea you were so keen on Coral——”

“Coral? Coral? What do I care for Coral?” she asked him fiercely.

“But if you’re not upset about Coral,” demanded the logical sex, “what’s all the row about? What’s the matter with you?”

She turned away from him because she felt her lips were trembling.

“I don’t know,” she said weakly. “I don’t know.” And then—“I know I’m very unhappy.”

She trailed away to the window, without a glance, without, I give you my word, a glance at the new cabinet, though it half blocked her way.

He did not know whether he should laugh or be bored by her inexplicability. He was not in the habit of translating his sensations into thoughts, but what he really wanted was that she should stop talking and be smiling and interested in his interests, and be quick about it, so that he might legitimately dispense with his quite definite discomfort. Yet if, at that moment, she could have broken down completely, letting her trouble and her anxious love for him show itself in a storm of tears, I believe that she might have won him. He would have recognized tears: he would have understood tears: he would have done anything to comfort tears. Can’t you foresee his horrified distress? She might have said all her say and he would have listened. It was her chance, hers for the taking!

But she—she had learned so rigidly to repress herself in speech and still more in manner, that she found herself at such a moment not moved but frozen. She took it, with a sort of dreary triumph, as a sign that she had at last attained self-mastery, Justin’s virtue—not considering that a runaway engine and an engine that has jammed are equally beyond the driver’s control. And so—governed as ever by the Code, she told him that she was unhappy in the tone that she would have told him that her new shoes were tight. Yet she never dreamed that he took her flippancy at its face value—he—Justin—whose Adamry, with the deadly injustice of pure worship, she had endowed with omniscience. If Justin did not understand it was because he did not choose: and he did not choose because her emotion offended his inexorable taste. Thus, merciless to him as he to her, she reasoned, and for the first time in her life was bitter against him for the hardness of his heart. Yet, affected as she must always be by his each unconscious change of tone, how could she fail to respond when he laughed at this good joke of hers and, without admitting that he should or should not have written to Coral, put it to her, as a woman and a collector, that it was time to change the subject.

“Unhappy? Rats! Come and help with the shelves. Coral can look after herself. Besides, of course I’ll fix up something. Only leave me alone, Laura! I’ve not done you any harm. Don’t worry so! I can look after myself, can’t I?”

She looked at him with great doubtful eyes.

He laughed impatiently.

“Don’t be such a grandmother,” he insisted. “Leave me alone!”

She gave him a smile then, a half smile as doubtful as her eyes; but she shook her head.

“I can’t,” said Laura.

“Oh, stuff!” said Justin.

And then they began to discuss matters of importance.