She shook her head. "I'd love to"—her voice was regretful—"but I must get back. I've promised Roddy. He's home for his exeat and we're going to the Zoo. You'd better lunch with us if you don't mind pot luck. But we mustn't be late; we've got a new cook."
"Another?" McTaggart laughed. It seemed a familiar joke.
"The fourth since the Summer," the girl answered dryly. "But Stephen found this one, so she ought to be perfect!"
They turned up the Broad Walk where the fog still hung, white and shadowy over the sodden grass. Here and there a nurse moved with steady intention, children trotting beside her, homeward to lunch; and upon a damp bench, oblivious of the weather, a loving couple lingered, speechlessly hand in hand.
"And how is the great Stephen? I haven't seen him for years."
"Oh, he's just the same." The girl's voice was weary. She stared straight ahead as they swung along together, and a short silence followed that both understood. For they met here on the grounds of a common mistrust, and a hatred shared is a stronger link than even that of love. At the turnstile McTaggart paused, watching her thoughtful face.
"Let's go by the Inner Circle, it's a much nicer way."
"All right." The words were husky, and, as she passed through, the dark lashes hid from him her downcast eyes. But not before McTaggart had seen what she tried to disguise—the tears standing there in their clear gray depths.
"Why, Jill!—why, my dear, whatever is the matter?"
"Nothing." She bit her under lip, furious with herself.