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He never yielded to inner, or to outer, pressure. He could break; but he would not yield.

‘I must see you alone, Mummy darling,’ he had said. They had had no word alone as yet. She had been called for and borne off to The Crofts and so elated had he been with the success of their exploit, so glad in her imagined gladness, that no shadow of her anxiety must be allowed to reach his consciousness. There had been, for her, too, a certain exhilaration in thus taking possession of the new home and looking out from the comfortable windows at the views which were now to frame his existence; and even Hester’s friends she had found less annoying than usual. Never, indeed, had she heard anyone talk so swiftly and so vehemently as Mr. Gales. He was like a stout weathercock in a summer storm, veering, glittering, challenging the elements, with never a suspicion that anyone could find him anything but bewitching. But he had altered much in his demeanour towards Clive since that far-away evening of the party. Without pressure, without consciousness, she felt that Clive had mastered all the elements of Hester’s world. He did not withdraw and he did not mingle, but they were all aware of him; and to her they were very kind, even when they bustled her aside and