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soul. You must learn acceptance, Brock.”
    His eyes were cold and a little bleak. “Haven’t the last few years taught me that?”
    “I’m not sure. There’s been nothing to take the place of your earlier love.”
    “Meaning, I suppose, that if I’d found a desirable wife my passion for the mountains would be sublimated?”
    She smiled, then compressed her lips.
    “I don’t set much store by such loose modern jargon,” she said, “but there are other ways of fulfilling oneself besides climbing unconquerable heights and leading expeditions.”
    “You say that rather as if you thought such ambitions were merely an adult form of showing off.”
    “Not in your case,” she answered seriously, “not in that of any of the real pioneers, but a physical infirmity should not embitter the spirit. There are other ways of fulfilment.”
    He moved abruptly, dragging his stiff limb with unconscious impatience.
    “So you said,” he returned shortly, then dismissed the subject altogether. “You don’t have to put up with this Frenchwoman here, you know. We can probably find her a room in the village.”
    “She won’t trouble me,” said Bunny serenely. “Also, I think it might be a good opportunity to find out a little more about this matter.”
    “With discretion,” Brock said, one eyebrow lifted quizzically. She gave him a reproving look.
    “Naturally,” she said. “Only I think you must make your intentions—if indeed you have any—a little clearer to me, first. But that can wait; luncheon, I think, is ready.”
    Marthe arrived in the evening and at once made her presence felt in the house. Although she came of peasant stock she had spent all her life in cities, and one glance at the shabby country rectory and the dowdy little woman who greeted her prosaically, although assuring her of propriety, confirmed her worst fears of English discomfort.
    She sat in the kitchen drinking, without gratitude, the soup which Bunny had prepared for her, and appraised Brock in silence out of her small, pig-like eyes.
    She had been unprepared for Brock, who had met her at the station, and was disturbed to find that he was also stopping in the house. Accustomed to Tante’s sleek, well-tailored escorts, she found nothing to admire in the worn slacks and faded pullover which this tall man wore with the negligent casualness of a peasant, but Sabina, she thought, had led too sheltered a life to be as discerning, and it was possible that an escapade such as last night’s might give her notions which Madame could find very upsetting to her plans.
    “You will observe the usual rules in my absence,” Tante had said upon departure. “The child is prepared against eventualities. I want no foolish distractions to interfere now— no adolescent infatuations or imagined friendships. You understand?”
    Marthe had understood perfectly. She had not thought, herself, there was danger from outside influences, for Sabina had no opportunities for making friends of her own and, in Marthe’s opinion, no gift for attracting admiration. Yet now, in the space of twenty-four hours, she had run away, ventured into a public-house, and allowed a perfect stranger to take her home for the night.
    Marthe’s tightly encased bosom swelled as the enormity of the situation struck her, and the coarse black down on her long upper lip seemed to bristle as she announced suddenly:
    “In case Mademoiselle failed to tell you, Monsieur, she is already promised.”
    Bunny surveyed the flat, sallow face with distaste, but Brock merely raised his eyebrows and replied mildly.
    “Mademoiselle told me several odd things. Perhaps you can explain.”
    “I do not know, Monsieur, what Mademoiselle saw fit to tell
    you,” Marthe retorted. “But that she is betrothed to a rich gentleman of France is true. Madame Lamb, my employer, is there at this moment concluding the negotiations.” “Negotiations?” repeated Brock.
    Marthe gave him an appraising stare. Young, yes,