Sleep, they say, brings counsel. Most certainly it brought counsel to Trix, and really such simple counsel she marvelled that she had not thought of it before.

After all, the question as to whether she should or should not disclose Antony Gray’s identity to Pia, and thereby run the risk either of untruth or of breaking a promise, was purely a question of conscience. Now, in a question of conscience, if you cannot decide for yourself, it is always safe to consult a priest. She would therefore walk over to Byestry after breakfast—after she had told Pia her own particular and wonderful news—and consult Father Dormer. It would be quite easy to explain matters to him without mentioning names.

Trix began formulating her query in her mind as she dressed. By the time this process was completed, however, she had come to the conclusion that she was not altogether sure whether it would be so easy. She found herself getting wound up into rather extraordinary knots. Well, anyhow she would explain somehow, and no doubt words would come when she was actually confronted with him. Besides, it was never the smallest use arranging conversations beforehand, like a French conversation book, because people never gave the right answers to your questions, and never put the questions to which you had the answers ready.

Trix crossed slowly to the window. There had been a frost in the night, and the lower part of the window-pane was covered with magic fern fronds, while lawn and shrubs were clothed with a light white veil.

Suddenly the sun came up behind the distant hills, a glowing ball of fire, sending forth his ruddy beams till they struck clean through the window, turning the fern fronds to ruby jewels, and making of the frost veil without a web of diamonds.

“That,” breathed Trix softly, “is what happened to us yesterday.”

And she knelt down quite suddenly by the window.

The breakfast hour at the Manor House was, ordinarily speaking, most punctually at nine o’clock, but owing, doubtless, to some slight hitch in the lower regions, the gong that morning did not sound till a quarter past the hour. This delay gave Miss Tibbutt time to put in an appearance not more than two minutes late, and saved any necessary explanation regarding her early walk to Byestry. As it was really on Pia’s account that she had gone to Mass, she wished to avoid mentioning that she had been. Of course Pia could not possibly have guessed the real motive, but Miss Tibbutt had a feeling, which reason told her to be quite foolish, that in some odd way she might guess. And she did not want her to guess.

“What is the plan of campaign to-day?” asked the Duchessa, as they assembled in the morning room after breakfast.

Trix examined an ornament on the mantelpiece with rather studied care.

“I was thinking of walking over to Byestry, this morning,” she remarked.

“All right,” agreed the Duchessa, “and after lunch we will have the car. It is cold, but too good a day to be wasted.”

Trix had a moment’s anxiety.

“We shan’t be late for tea?” she queried.

“I don’t think so,” responded Pia. “The days are too short now. But why?”

Trix put down the ornament she was examining.

“Doctor Hilary is coming to tea,” she announced carelessly, though she knew perfectly well that the colour was rising in her cheeks.

Pia looked at her.

“Trix!” she said.

“Yes, darling,” nodded Trix, “just that.”

“Oh, my Trix!” cried Pia delighted, putting her arms round her.

Miss Tibbutt looked a trifle bewildered.

“What is it?” she demanded

Pia laughed.

“These two,” she said, “Trix and Doctor Hilary. I told you, you remember, and said there were trains, though I never dreamed they would be utilized quite so literally. Of course it was yesterday?”

“Yes,” nodded Trix again. And then with a huge sigh, “Oh, Pia, I am so happy.”

Pia turned her round towards Miss Tibbutt.

“Tibby, look at her face, and then she tells us she is happy, as though it were necessary to advertise the fact to our slow intelligences.”

Trix laughed, though the tears were in her eyes. Laughter and tears are amazingly close together at times.

“And is it quite necessary to walk to Byestry this morning?” teased Pia. “He will probably be on his rounds, you know.”

Again Trix laughed, this time without the tears.

“I am not proposing to sit in his pocket,” she remarked. “He did not happen to suggest that I should, and it certainly never occurred to me to suggest it.”