It had been chance pure and simple which happened to take Doctor Hilary to Woodleigh on the day the Duchessa received Trix’s telegram, but it cannot be equally said that it was chance which took him to Exeter on the following day, and which made him travel down again to Kingsleigh by the four o’clock train. Also it was certainly not chance which induced him to be on the platform at least a quarter of an hour before the train was due at the station, ready to keep a careful lookout on all the passengers in it.

Trix had had an uneasy journey from London. She had re-read Miss Tibbutt’s letter at least a dozen times. At first she had allowed herself to be almost unreasonably depressed by it; afterwards she had been almost more unreasonably depressed because she had allowed herself to be depressed in the first instance. Quite possibly it was all a storm in a tea-cup, and this man had nothing whatever to do with Pia’s unhappiness. Of course the chance meeting and the overheard conversation had fitted in so neatly as to make Miss Tibbutt think it had, and she had easily communicated the same idea to Trix. But quite probably it had nothing more to do with it than her own surmise regarding Doctor Hilary had had. And that had proved entirely erroneous, though at the time it had appeared the most sane of conclusions. Also Miss Tibbutt might quite conceivably be wrong as to Pia’s being now unhappy at all, whatever she had seemed to be in the summer.

Trix’s visit began to appear to her somewhat in the light of a wild-goose chase. Anyhow she had not given Pia the smallest hint as to why she was coming. Naturally she could not possibly have done that. She had still to invent some tangible excuse for her sudden desire to visit Woodleigh again. Sick of London greyness would be quite good enough, though certainly not entirely true. But possibly a slight deviation from truth would be excusable under the circumstances. And she was sick of London greyness. The fog yesterday had got on her nerves altogether, though quite probably it would not have done so if it had not been for Miss Tibbutt’s letter, which had made her feel so horribly restless. But then there was no need to say why the fog had got on her nerves.

Yes; the fog would be excuse enough. And it was not an atom of good worrying herself as to whether Miss Tibbutt had been right or wrong regarding the idea communicated in her letter. If she were right it made Trix unhappy to think about it, and if she were wrong it made Trix cross to think she had thought about it. So the wisest course was not to think about it at all. But the difficulty was not to think about it.

Trix knew perfectly well that absurd little things had this power of depressing her, and she wished they had not. She knew, also, that other quite little things had the power of cheering her in equal proportion, and she wished that one of these other things would happen now. But that was not particularly likely.

The depression had been at its lowest ebb as they ran into Bath. It was, however, slightly on the mend by the time Trix reached Exeter, though she was still feeling that her journey had probably, if not certainly, been a piece of pure foolishness on her part.

The carriage she was in was up in the front of the train. She was the sole occupant thereof. She now put up something akin to a prayer that she might remain in undisturbed possession. Apparently, however, the prayer was not to be granted. A tall figure, masculine in character, suddenly blocked the light from the window. Trix heaved a small sigh of patient resignation.

“Good afternoon, Miss Devereux,” said a voice.

Trix looked up. Her resignation took to itself wings and fled.

“Doctor Hilary!” she exclaimed.

Doctor Hilary heaved his big form into the carriage, and turned to take a tea-basket from a porter just behind him. First tipping the said porter, he put the basket carefully on the seat.

“I’ve been on the lookout for you,” he remarked calmly.

“Oh,” said Trix, a trifle surprised.

Doctor Hilary sat down, keeping, however, one eye towards the platform.

“Yes,” he continued, still calmly. “The Duchessa happened to tell me yesterday that you were coming, and as I happened to be in Exeter to-day I thought we might as well do this bit of the journey together.”

“I see,” said Trix.

Doctor Hilary looked up. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked quickly.

“Mind!” echoed Trix, “I am quite delighted. I’ve been so bored, and rather tired, and—yes, I think quite depressed.”

Doctor Hilary looked concerned.

“You poor little thing,” he said. “And I suppose you have had one sandwich, and no tea. Men turn to food when they’re depressed, and women think they can’t eat. Honestly, there’s nothing like a good meal for helping one to look on the brighter side of things.”

Trix smiled first at him, and then at the tea-basket.

“Anyhow I’m to be fed now, it seems.”

The train began to move slowly out of the station. Doctor Hilary gave vent to an ill-supressed sigh of relief. The train was non-stop to Brent. He began pulling at the straps of the tea-basket.

Tea and Doctor Hilary’s company had a really marvellous effect on Trix’s spirits. The little pleasant occurrence had happened, and quite unexpectedly.

“I’m glad you’re coming down to Woodleigh,” said Doctor Hilary presently. “The Duchessa has seemed out of sorts lately, and I fancy your coming will cheer her.”

“Oh,” said Trix, “you think so, too.” And then she stopped.

“Who else thinks so?” queried Doctor Hilary.

“Well, Miss Tibbutt didn’t seem quite satisfied about her,” owned Trix. “It was a letter from her made me come. And then I thought perhaps she’d been mistaken, and I’d been silly to think there was any need of me, and that—well, that I’d been a little officious. It’s a depressing sensation,” sighed Trix.

Doctor Hilary laughed.

“So that was the cause of the depression,” quoth he.

Trix nodded. “It was rather silly, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“I am not sure,” he said.

“It was such an idiotic little thing to worry about,” said Trix

Doctor Hilary looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps. But isn’t it just the little things we do worry over? They are so small, you know, it’s difficult to handle them. It is far easier not to worry over a thing you can get a real grasp of.”

Trix smiled gratefully.

“I am so glad you understand,” she said. “I am always doing things on impulse. I fancy I am indispensable, I suppose, and then all at once I think what a little donkey I am to have interfered. It is so easy to think oneself important to other people’s welfare when one isn’t a bit.”

“Aren’t you?” said Doctor Hilary quietly.

“Of course not,” replied Trix. There was a hint of indignation in her voice. “And please don’t say I am, or else it will make me feel that you think I said what I did say just in order that you might contradict me. Like fishing for a compliment, you know. And I didn’t mean that in the least, I didn’t truly.”

Doctor Hilary smiled, a queer little smile.

“I know you didn’t mean that. But all the same I am going to contradict you.”

Trix looked up. “Oh well,” she began, laughing and half resignedly. And then something in Doctor Hilary’s face made her stop suddenly, her heart beating at a mad pace.

“You have become very important in my life,” he said quietly. “I did not realize how important, till you went away.”

Trix was silent.

“I am not very good at making pretty speeches,” said Doctor Hilary steadily, “but I hope you understand exactly what I mean. You have become so important to my welfare that I should find it exceedingly difficult to go on living without you. I suppose I should do it somehow if I must, but probably I should make a very poor job of it.” He stopped.

Trix gave a sudden little intake of her breath. For a moment there was a dead silence. Then:—

“Will you always feed me when I am depressed?” she asked. And there was a little quiver half of laughter, half of tears, in her voice.