Nan paused outside the door of her bedroom.

“But, my dear old Barry, what on earth is there to upset?  There’s no earthly obstacle to their marrying that I can see!”

As she spoke she felt a sudden little qualm of apprehension.  It was purely selfish, as she told herself with a twinge of honest self-contempt.  But what should she do without Penelope?  It would create a big blank for her if her best friend left her for a home of her own.  Somehow, the inevitable reaction of Penelope’s marriage upon her own life had not occurred to her before.  It hurt rather badly now that the thought had presented itself, but she determined to ignore that aspect of the matter firmly.

“Well, I hope they will come back engaged,” she declared.  “Anyway, I won’t say a word till one or other of them announces the good news.”

“Better not,” agreed Barry.  “I think part of the trouble is this big American tour Fenton’s been offered.  It seems to have complicated matters.”

There came a light footstep on the staircase and Kitty swished round the bend.  Barry and Nan started guiltily apart, smiling deprecatingly at her.

“Nan, you ought to be in bed by now!” protested Kitty severely.  “You’re not to be trusted one minute, Barry, keeping her standing about talking like this.”

She shoo’d her big husband away with a single wave of her arm and marshalled Nan into the bedroom.  In her hand she carried a tray on which was a glass of hot milk.

“There,” she continued, addressing Nan.  “You’ve got to drink that while you’re undressing, and then you’ll sleep well.  And you’re not to come down to-morrow except for dinner.  I’ll send your meals up—­you shan’t be starved!  But you must have a thorough rest.”

“Oh, Kitty!” Nan’s exclamation was a positive wail of dismay.

Kitty cheerfully dismissed any possibility of discussion.

“It’s quite settled, my dear.  You’ll be feeling it all far worse to-morrow than to-day.  So get into bed now as quickly as possible.”

“This milk’s absolutely boiling,” complained Nan irritably.  “I can’t drink it.”

“Then undress first and drink it when you’re in bed.  I’ll brush your hair for you.”

It goes without saying that Kitty had her way—­it was a very kind-hearted way—­and before long Nan was sipping her glass of milk and gratefully realising the illimitable comfort which a soft bed brings to weary limbs.

“By the way, I’ve some news for you,” announced Kitty, as she sat perched on the edge of the bed, smoking one of the tiny gold-tipped cigarettes she affected.

“News?  What news?”

“Well, guess who’s coming here?”

Nan named one or two mutual friends, only to be met by a triumphant negative.  Finally Kitty divulged her secret.

“Why, Peter Mallory!”

The glass in Nan’s hand jerked suddenly, spilling a few drops of the milk.