MISS Mason was in her studio having tea. Barnabas was with her. He invariably dropped in at tea-time   
unless he was giving a tea-party on his own account.
 
Pippa had gone with Alan to look at flats. The occupation was an intense joy to her. If he had decided 
 
on all the flats on which she had set her heart he would have taken at least a dozen, and he and 
 
Aurora would have lived in one at a time during each of the twelve months of the year. Hitherto, 
 
notwithstanding Pippa’s enthusiasm regarding them, he had not found one that quite came up to his 
 
requirements. Tea being finished, Barnabas lit a cigarette.
 
“I must take you to call on Mrs. McAndrew soon,” said Barnabas. “She and Andrew have got a minute 
 
flat quite close to his studio. She’s a delightful old lady. You will like her, and her Scotch is, if 
 
anything, broader than Andrew’s. I’ve never seen a fellow so gloriously happy as he is. We look upon 
 
you, Aunt Olive, as a kind of fairy godmother, who has only to touch people’s lives with a magic wand 
 
to ensure their happiness.”
 
Miss Mason laughed gruffly.
 
“That,” she said, “is quite the nicest thing I’ve ever had said to me. I know my own life has been 
 
a kind of glorious fairy tale lately.”
 
“Life,” said Barnabas, “is a fairy tale, if only one can believe it.”
 
“But,” said Aunt Olive, “one comes in touch with bad fairies on occasions.”
 
“I know,” nodded Barnabas gravely. “But I fancy there are some people who have the magic wand that 
 
can transform them into good ones.”
 
“It’s a comfortable belief,” said Miss Mason.
 
Sally opened the studio door.
 
“A lady to see Mr. Kirby, ma’am,” she said. “She says she has come about an advertisement of a 
 
ring.”
 
“At last,” said Barnabas, and he got up.
 
“Show her in,” said Miss Mason. And the next minute Sybil Preston entered the studio. Halfway into 
 
the room she stopped.
 
“Granny!” she exclaimed.
 
Miss Mason got up from her chair.
 
“Bless me!” she said in an excited voice, “it’s little Sybil Quarly. Sally, bring fresh tea at 
 
once.”
 
Sybil sat down by the table in a chair put for her by Barnabas.
 
“Of all the extraordinary things,” she laughed, “that I should walk quietly into this studio and 
 
find you. It must be fifteen years since we met.”
 
“And eleven since I heard from you,” said Miss Mason.
 
Sybil flushed faintly. “I’m a shocking letter writer,” she said. “I never write letters. But 
 
indeed I had not forgotten you.”
 
“Of course not,” said Miss Mason. “So the ring is yours. Just fancy that through your losing it, 
 
and Mr. Kirby’s advertisement, we should meet again. I’ve got it quite safely for you.” She got up 
 
and took it from a small box. “Here it is.”
 
Sybil held out her hand for it. Suddenly she became aware that Barnabas was watching her.
 
“I believe,” she said to him, with a little nervous laugh, “that you know my husband, Luke Preston. 
 
He was speaking of you only the other day, and saying that he must look you up.”
 
Barnabas smiled. “What, old Luke!” he exclaimed. “Of course I knew him. We were at school together.
 
”
 
“Then you are married?” said Miss Mason.
 
“Barely three weeks ago. We went to Yorkshire for part of our honeymoon. It was on the way up I lost 
 
my ring. We were quite rural up there, and saw no papers but the ‘Yorkshire Post.’ It was only by 
 
chance that a London paper was sent us, and I saw the advertisement, so I——”
 
 
She broke off. She had suddenly seen the picture of Pippa standing by the faun. Both figures were 
 
life-size.
 
“Who,” she asked, “is that?” Her eyes were dilated, her breath coming quickly.
 
“That is Pippa,” said Miss Mason; “a little girl I have adopted.”
 
Barnabas was again watching Sybil.
 
“She is,” he said quietly, “extraordinarily like a man I once knew, a great friend of mine—
 
Philippe Kostolitz.”
 
Sybil stared at him with wide eyes. There was a trace of fear in them.
 
“You knew Philippe?” she said.
 
“Yes,” said Barnabas, still quietly.
 
Miss Mason’s keen old eyes looked from one to the other of them.
 
“And what, my dear,” she said, “did you know of him?”
 
Sybil gave a little sob. “He—he was my husband,” she said.
 
There was a dead silence in the room. Then Miss Mason put a question. It seemed forced from her:
 
“Did you have a child?”
 
Sybil bowed her head.
 
“Shall I go away?” asked Barnabas.
 
“No, stay,” said Sybil. “I suppose you guessed something the moment I came to claim the ring. Since 
 
you knew Philippe you must have known it belonged to him. You had better hear the story. God knows 
 
what I am going to do now.” Her lips quivered. She looked like a piteous, frightened child.
 
“My dear,” said Miss Mason gently, “if there is any way in which we can help you, we will. Tell us 
 
as much as you can.”
 
Sybil drew a long breath. She looked at Miss Mason. She tried to forget that Barnabas was present, 
 
though she wished him to remain.
 
“You know,” she began, “that we went to live at Pangbourne. A year after we went there I met 
 
Philippe. He was staying with some friends near us. We saw a good bit of each other one way and 
 
another, and—and we began to care....
 
“My mother must have guessed it, for she suddenly began to prevent my seeing him. But one day he came 
 
straight to my father and said he loved me.... My father was furious. He said he would never hear of 
 
his daughter marrying a vagabond artist, a man who spent half his life on the roads like any tramp, 
 
and the other half in a studio messing with common clay. You know my father never did like art, and he 
 
looked on all artists with contempt. He never believed that they were gentlemen. You know, he never 
 
believed that anyone who did anything for their livelihood was one. And he couldn’t conceive it 
 
possible that the love of the work and not money was Philippe’s motive in his art. At any rate, he 
 
sent Philippe away. I was quite miserable, but hadn’t the courage to gainsay him, and my mother was 
 
quite as bad....
 
“Six months later I was staying with some friends in Hampshire for a fortnight. I was to go on from 
 
there to another friend—Cecily Mainwaring—for a month. Cecily lives in London. One day while I was 
 
in Hampshire I was out for a walk alone, when I met Philippe....
 
“Oh, it’s no use my trying to tell you how glad I was to see him. When he knew I was staying at 
 
Andover he remained in the neighbourhood, and we used to meet almost daily. I’d always gone for long 
 
walks alone. We used to spend hours together in Harewood Forest, and he used to make all kinds of 
 
plans. First he wanted me to defy my parents and run away with him and marry him. But I hadn’t the 
 
courage. I said that perhaps in time they’d consent. Then he thought of another plan and begged me to 
 
consent to it. We were to be married and keep it a secret from my people. I was to spend a month with 
 
him in some little country place instead of staying with Cecily. Then I was to go home, and he was to 
 
come down and use all his influence with my parents, and if it failed we would have to tell them. He 
 
begged me so that at last I consented. At the back of my mind I thought that if my parents were still 
 
obdurate I could persuade Philippe not to tell them. At least I’d have a [Pg 265]month with him. I 
 
wasn’t nineteen, and I never though of what—what might happen....” She stopped, her face crimson.
 
“Yes, dear?” said Miss Mason gently.
 
“Philippe went away then to make arrangements, and I stayed on three days longer with my friends. I 
 
left them ostensibly to go to Cecily. I met Philippe instead.... We were married at a tiny church. He 
 
had got a special license. He didn’t like it not being his own church, but as I was a Catholic it 
 
would have been difficult to arrange that. At all events, the marriage was legal, and he thought that 
 
perhaps we’d be married again in his own church when my parents knew. But of course that didn‘t 
 
trouble me. We went to Wales together, to a little village there. Any letters that might be written to 
 
me went to Cecily. I wrote to her and told her I was on a motor tour with friends and my visit to her 
 
must be postponed; that I wasn’t sure when I could come home to her. And I asked her to keep any 
 
letters for me till I came. Cecily was quite unsuspecting, and did so.
 
“I was gloriously happy with Philippe. Occasionally I was frightened at what I had done, but when he 
 
was with me I only thought about him and my happiness. One day he went into Shrewsbury by train.... I 
 
was going with him, but I had such a bad headache that at the last moment I persuaded him to go alone. 
 
He was to have come back at seven o’clock in the evening.... He didn’t come, and I got uneasy. I 
 
went down towards the station.... Then I heard there had been a frightful railway accident only three 
 
miles outside the station.... I went to the place.... I don’t know how I got there. Ever so many 
 
people were going.... They carried the people from the train to cottages and barns.... I found 
 
Philippe in one of them....” Sybil’s voice shook and she stopped.
 
“We know, dear,” said Miss Mason. “Don’t try to tell us.”
 
There was a little silence. At last Sybil went on:
 
“When I saw that he was dead I suddenly realized what I had done. I knew there was no one to stand 
 
between me and my parents’ anger.... And then men came who began to ask questions of the people 
 
present ... wanting them to identify....” Again Sybil stopped.
 
“I ran away,” she went on pitifully. “I couldn’t bear to be asked anything. I thought perhaps no 
 
one would ever know. I thought it would be so much easier if they didn’t.... I got back to the 
 
cottage and packed a few things.... All the people were out at—at the place. We had given them an 
 
assumed name. I thought they’d never know who we were.... Of course, afterwards they knew about 
 
Philippe, I suppose, when he was identified. I saw in the papers that letters were found on him.... 
 
Someone went there, a friend of his. I’ve forgotten the name....”
 
“I went,” said Barnabas. “It is strange that there was no mention of you. I suppose the people at 
 
the rooms where you stayed wished to keep out of being questioned, so did not come forward. However, 
 
that’s no matter now.”
 
“I left money to pay for our lodging,” went on Sybil, “and just ran away. I walked a long distance 
 
to another little station and took a train to Hereford. From there I went to London. I got there in 
 
the early morning. I waited about in the station till nearly lunch-time. Then I drove to Cecily’s 
 
flat. I had sent my luggage—at least most of it—to her from Andover. I’d only taken a little box 
 
and a handbag to Wales. I left the box behind at the rooms. There was nothing in it that could betray 
 
my name. I took the handbag away with me. When I saw Cecily I just said that the tour had ended 
 
unexpectedly, and that I hadn’t been well. I stayed with her a week. That week and the three weeks in 
 
Wales just made up the month I was supposed to be with her. Then I went home....
 
“It’s no use trying to explain what I thought, nor how wretched I was. I don’t think I quite knew 
 
myself. It didn’t seem I who was acting, but just something or somebody outside myself. If I really 
 
thought of anything it was only that I could never face my parents’ anger. So all the time I was 
 
planning and thinking how best to behave that they should never know. It sounds dreadful now, but then 
 
it didn’t seem fair that I should only have three weeks’ happiness, and for that bear the whole 
 
brunt of their anger alone. I soon found that I need not fear them guessing. They never suspected that 
 
I had not been with Cecily the whole time.... As the weeks passed I began to think myself that 
 
everything that had happened had been a dream.... It wasn’t exactly that I forgot Philippe, only I 
 
tried to pretend it had never been a reality.... And then all at once I realized that it wasn’t a 
 
dream ... that it never had been ... and no amount of thinking could turn it into one.... I used to 
 
pass whole nights of terror wondering what I could do.... If I had only told my parents at once it 
 
would have been so much easier.... Even though they would have been terribly angry, at least I was 
 
married to Philippe.... But now I felt I could never tell them....
 
“At last I thought of Cecily. I wrote to ask her to let me stay with her. I went; and then I told her 
 
everything.... Cecily was very good to me. She begged and implored me to tell my people, but I wouldn
 
’t, and I cried so much she thought I’d be ill, and at last she promised to help me and do 
 
everything I wanted.... We went over to [Pg 269]France. My father was quite willing for me to travel 
 
about with Cecily, and kept me well supplied with money. We were in France moving about in different 
 
places the whole winter. In March............