Bevil was very satisfied with his marriage on that night.

During the weeks which followed I was constantly with Bevil. He took me everywhere with him, and gradually our relationship slipped back to what it had been in the days of our honeymoon. How glad I was that I had for some time steeped myself in politics so that I could talk intelligently of events. I was never happier than when I saw Bevil sit back, his arms folded, a look of gravity on his face, eyes lowered to hide the satisfaction in them, when I made some well-thought-out comment or my occasional platform speech.

For the first time in my life I was completely unconscious of my limp; I knew that no physically perfect woman could have delighted Bevil more than I did … at that time.

But life does not remain static.

It was about two months after I received that letter from Gwennan that the next arrived. This was short.

“Dear Harriet,

This is very urgent. I must see you. Please come to me here as soon as you receive this letter. Don’t let anything delay you. Please, Harriet.

Gwennan.”

On the top of the letter was a Plymouth address.

Bevil was in the dressing room when I opened the letter. I daren’t show it to him for I believed he would put everything possible hi the way of my going, and I was determined not to fail Gwennan this time.

I had hidden the letter when he came out and sat on the bed chatting about the day’s program. I was to be with him all morning in the Lansella chambers because one of the tasks I had been able to do particularly well was to listen to the women’s problems, record them and advise on them.

I could not say I was going to Plymouth. I pictured him struggling with me, finding the letter and perhaps going in my place.

We would return to luncheon at Menfreya, and hi the afternoon I should be free because he had an engagement which did not include me.

Never had a morning seemed so long; I was terrified that something would happen to prevent my leaving, but at last I was free.

It was about four o’clock when I arrived at the station and took a cab to the address Gwennan had given me.

We drew up before a small but respectable hotel, where I guessed Bevil had installed her.

When I asked for Mrs. Bellairs the receptionist opened her eyes wide and told me to wait a minute please. She went away, and in a few minutes the proprietress of the hotel came hurrying out.

“I’m so relieved,” she said. “Please come in here.”

She took me into a pleasant but modest reception room.

“You’re related?” she asked.

“I'm her sister-in-law.”

Her relief was obvious.

“She died early this morning.”

“Dead …” I repeated stupidly.

“It was inevitable. She was so weak and had evidently neglected her health for a long time. It was too late when she came here, and we knew the end couldn’t be far off. I’ve notified her brother.”

“When?”

“The letter was posted this morning.”

“And the child?”

“He is being looked after by one of my maids. I am grateful that you came. We naturally want instructions. You will be Mrs. Harriet Menfrey perhaps?”

“I am.”

“I have a letter for you. She asked that it should be delivered into your hands personally if that were possible. I will bring it to you.”

For a few seconds I could only stare at the familiar handwriting and think of Gwennan … dead.

“My dear Harriet,

I am writing to you in case mere is no time for speaking. I’m dying, I’ve known it for months. I went through a terrible time after Benedict had gone. I was worried and there was no money. At one time I wanted to come back to Menfreya to die, but I saw that that wasn’t possible. When Bevil came to see me I realized it. It wasn’t anything he said; in fact he said I must come back to be looked after, but I could see that it wouldn’t be any good. You can’t go back and make things as they were. The moving finger writes and all that. I knew that I couldn’t face the explanations, having the child, the mess I’d made of everything. It would have been too humiliating, and I’m too proud. So in spite of Devil’s persuasion, I didn’t come. I’d made up my mind; he saw that, because we do understand each other. Well, now there’s Benny, and I’m writing this to you, Harriet, because you’re the one I want to look after him. I want him to go back to Menfreya, but I want you to be a mother to him. Hell be at a disadvantage, as you were when you were little, and you will understand that more than anyone else.

“I may be dead when you read this. I’m dying now, Harriet It was such a different sort of life after Menfreya. Late nights, crowded rooms, cheap theatrical lodgings—and then, of course, the wretched poverty. I suppose I couldn’t stand it Bevil has been good to me. He brought me here, and since then I’ve been able to see that Benny was fed and clothed. I longed to come back, but I couldn’t face it, Harriet. But when I’m not here, Benny must go to Menfreya.

“Now, Harriet, this is my dying wish .,. as they say. Take my boy and bring him up as yours. Don’t let anyone else have him, and think of me when he needs you. Remember it’s Gwennan who needs you, Harriet … then as now. He is Benedict Menfrey. Remember that Let him be known by his true name; and if you and Bevil should fail to have a child, then Menfreya will be his by right.

“I had hoped to see you before I died, but then I cannot be sure when my time will come. It might be suddenly and, like the foolish virgin (for the adjective certainly applies to me if not the noun), I should be caught without oil in my lamp, so that I should leave my boy stumbling on alone in the darkness.

“Harriet we were very close, weren’t we? I know you were always a better friend to me titan I to you. That is why I am asking you to do this for me now. And I am happy to go now that I have written this letter, for I trust you.

“My love to you, my dearest friend.

Gwennan.”

For a few moments I couldn’t speak. The proprietress of the hotel tiptoed out and left me alone. Gwennan was dead. I was terribly unhappy yet angry. It need not have happened, I kept telling myself. If she had married Harry she would be alive now. It was not as though there had been a grand passion between her and Benedict Bellairs. She had acted once too often in her wild irresponsible way, and now this lovely, vital girl was dead.

And Bevil? I had misjudged Bevil and felt sick with shame. How stupid I had been! Impetuous, foolish, suspicious. How he must have despised me for that I And yet I was glad because he had not been unkind. He had tried to bring her back, and it was she who had refused to come.

I folded the letter, put it into the pocket of my coat and went out into the hall. The proprietress, who had been waiting outside, brightened when she saw that I had pulled myself together.

“And the child,” I said, “where is he?”

“Ill take you to him.”

I nodded.

“First,” she said, “would you like to see her?”

I hesitated. How would she look hi death, my proud and lovely Gwennan? I thought of the shock I had received the last time I had seen her. I did not want to remember her like that.

“She looks at peace,” she murmured.

So I followed her up to the room in which Gwennan had lived since Bevil had taken her from her poor lodging. It was small, rather dark, but neat and clean. She lay on the bed, looking different, but her tawny hair was brilliant against the pallor of her skin. But what struck me so much was the serene expression on her face. I had never seen her look like that before. My eyes went to the blotter on the little table. The lid of the inkpot in the stand was open; the pen was lying across the blotter, and I pictured her sitting there writing the letter to me.

Gwennan, I thought, you can rely on me, no matter what happens.

I turned and we went out of the room.

“I had her laid out,” said the proprietress. “I suppose her family will see that everything is taken care of.”

“Yes,” I said. “Her brother—my husband—will come as soon as he receives the letter. I came in response to a letter from her. He does not know yet, but as soon as I return he will … besides he will soon have your letter.”

She nodded. ‘This sort of thing is so upsetting to the rest of the residents. I know you will understand.”

“I do.”

“And the child?” she asked anxiously.

“I will take him back with me.”

“I am sure that will be the best possible arrangement I'll take you to him now.”

He was sitting on a red hearthrug thoughtfully examining the toes of his little boots when I opened the door. A young girl was sitting in a chair watching him.

She smiled at me. “He’s been as good as gold,” she said.

I went over and knelt down on the hearthrug. There was no question about this one’s being a Menfrey. He had the same tawny hair and eyes; and the sparkle was there in his eyes. He couldn’t have been more than a year old, but he was bright for his age.

“Hello, Benny,” I said.

“Hello.”

“I’m Aunt Harriet.”

He nodded. “Aunt Harriet” He had no difficulty with the name, which told me that he had heard it before.

He gripped my arm to help himself up; then he came close to me and studied me intently. I looked at the smooth skin, the short nose, a replica of Gwennan’s with its flaring nostrils. I would never forget Gwennan while there was her son to remind me.

“Are you coming with me?” I asked.

He nodded, his eyes immediately sparkled with the spirit of adventure, which had been the characteristic and perhaps the ruin of his mother.