Rose envied that child now, with an envy that she hoped was not bitter.  It is not because we knew no sorrows in our childhood that we would fain recall it.  It is because we now so seldom know one whole hour of its licensed freedom, its absolute liberty in spite of bonds.

A loud door-bell, as it seemed to Rose, sounded through the house as she closed the shutter she had opened when she came in.  She knew whose ring it must be, and came quietly downstairs with a little frown.

Edmund Grosse had been shown into the library.  The room looked east, and was now deliciously cool after the street.  The dark blinds were half-way down, and a little pretence at a breeze was coming in over the burnt turf of the back garden.

Edmund’s manner as he met her was as usual, but tinged perhaps with a little irony—­very little, but just a flavour of it mingled with the immense friendliness and the wish to serve and help her.

Rose was, to his surprise, almost shy as she came into the room, but in another moment she was herself.

“Mamma has borne the journey splendidly.  I’ve had an excellent account in a long telegram this morning.”

But while she told him of their journey and of their life in Paris, a rather piteous look came into the blue eyes.  Was she not to hear any of Edmund’s own news?  Was she not to be allowed to show any sympathy?  She might not say how she had been thinking of him, dreaming of how nobly he had met his troubles, praying for him in Notre Dame des Victories.  She saw at once that she must not; there was something changed.  It was too odd, but she was afraid of him.  She shook herself and determined not to be silly.  She would venture to say what she wished.

“Are things——­” she began, but her voice trembled a little as, raising her head, she saw that he was watching her.  “Are things as bad as you feared?”

He at once looked out of the window.

“Quite as bad as possible.  I am just holding out till I can get some work.  Long ago, soon after I left the Foreign Office, I was asked to do some informal work in Egypt; they wanted a semi-official go-between for a time.  I wish I had not refused then; I have been an ass throughout.  If I had even done occasional jobs they would have had some excuses for putting me in somewhere now on the ground of my having had experience.  I have just written two articles on an Indian question, for I know that part of the world as well as anybody over here, and they may lead to something.  Meanwhile, I am very well, so don’t waste sympathy on me, I am lodging with the Tarts, where everything is in apple-pie order.”

“Oh, I am glad you are with those nice Tarts!” cried Rose, with genuine womanly relief, that in another class of life would have found form and expression in some such remark as that she knew Mary Tart would keep things clean and comfortable, and would do the airing thoroughly.

Edmund’s voice alone had made sympathy impossible, but he was a little annoyed at the cheerful tone of Rose’s words about the Tarts.  It was unlikely that she could have satisfied him in any way by speech or by silence as to his own affairs.  But why was she so very well dressed?  He had got so accustomed to her in soft, shabby black that he was not sure if he liked this Paris frock; the simplicity of it was too clever.