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on. She looked at him apologetically, murmuring, “I do want to tell you, but I—can’t just now.”

Tony said quickly, “We can’t talk here. Don’t try any more. Can you walk?”

“Oh, yes.” She got up at once. He was desperately afraid she would faint, she looked so frail; but they could not have any sort of a conversation in this place.

“We can get a cab, once we’re out of here,” he said, “and go somewhere where we can be undisturbed. This way is the shortest.”

They walked in silence towards the gates. Tony never forgot that walk, his mind seething with fears he dared not put into words. Where had she been? What—what had happened to his little gentle cousin to bring her here, white and thin and apparently friendless? . . . “It’s not as bad as you think!” And what was to come next? She looked not only friendless, now that he watched her, but positively—hard up. That serge dress was more than old-looking, it was really shabby, and it hurt to see Pamela wearing it. But, anyhow, if she was friendless through some monstrous accident, what could he do? He had no friends in Brisbane either, and no money at all, which was even more important. He cursed his poverty, not for the first time, and walked on with clenched hands, trying to remember to go slowly because of Pamela, and as yet incapable of speech. It seemed a long way to the rank outside the tall railings, where sleepy cabmen dozed in the sun inside their wagonettes.

An exquisite sense of peace and security was enfolding Pamela. Without hesitation or the need of words she put her whole future into Tony’s hands. Already the past seemed blurred; Mrs. Taylor was a name, no more. The only fact that mattered was that she had found Tony, who was so infinitely capable. She need not decide anything for herself now. She slid her hand into his for a moment, just