“You are going away?”

“I hope so,” she answered.  “I am not quite sure.”

“Not for good?” Possibly.”

“Won’t you tell me about it?” he asked.

“Well—­I don’t know!”

She hesitated for a moment.

“I will tell you if you like,” she said, doubtfully.  “But I do not wish anything said about it at present, as my arrangements are not complete.”

“I will be most discreet,” he promised.

“I have been doing a little work for a woman’s magazine in London, and they have half promised me a definite post on the staff.  I am to hear in a few days as to the conditions.  If they are satisfactory—­that is to say, if I can keep myself on what they offer—­I shall go and live in London.”

He was surprised, and also in a sense disappointed.  It was astonishing to find how unpleasant the thought of her leaving Medchester was to him.

“I had no idea of this,” he said, thoughtfully.  “I did not know that you went in for anything of the sort.”

“My literary ambitions are slight enough,” she answered.  “Yet you can scarcely be surprised that I find the thought of a definite career and a certain amount of independence attractive.”

He stole a sidelong glance at her.  In her plainly made clothes and quiet hat she was scarcely, perhaps, a girl likely to attract attention, yet he was conscious of certain personal qualities, which he had realized and understood from the first.  She carried herself well, she walked with the free graceful movements of a well-bred and healthy girl.  In her face was an air of quiet thought, the self-possession of the woman of culture and experience.  Her claim to good looks was, after all, slight enough, yet on studying her he came to the conclusion that she could if she chose appear to much greater advantage.  Her hair, soft and naturally wavy, was brushed too resolutely back; her smile, which was always charming, she suffered to appear only at the rarest intervals.  She suggested a life of repression, and with his knowledge of the Bullsom menage he was able to surmise some glimmering of the truth.

“You are right,” he declared.  “I think that I can understand what your feeling must be.  I am sure I wish you luck.”

The touch of sympathy helped her to unbend.  She glanced towards him kindly.

“Thank you,” she said.  “Of course there will be difficulties.  My uncle will not like it.  He is very good-natured and very hospitable, and I am afraid his limitations will not permit him to appreciate exactly how I feel about it.  And my aunt is, of course, merely his echo.”

“He will not be unreasonable,” Brooks said.  “I am sure of that.  For a man who is naturally of an obstinate turn of mind I think your uncle is wonderful.  He makes great efforts to free himself from all prejudices.”

“Unfortunately,” she remarked, “he is very down on the independent woman.  He would make housekeepers and cooks of all of us.”