Her eyes had closed a moment; they opened now with an effort. Once more she looked blindly at the people clustering around her—recognised his sister and Stephanie—divined that it was his mother who stood gazing at her in pallid consternation—summoned every atom of her courage to spare him the insult which a man's world had offered to her—found strength to ignore it so that no shadow of the outrage should fall through her upon him or upon those nearest to him.
"I lost my way," she said. Her white lips tried to smile; she strove to stand upright, alone; caught mechanically at his arm, the fixed smile still stamped on her lips. "I am sorry to—disturb anybody…. I was lost—and it grew dark…. I don't know my way—very well—"
She turned, conscious of some one's arm supporting her; and Stephanie said, in a low, pitiful voice:
"Lean back on me. You must let me help you to the house."
"Thank you—I won't go in…. If I could rest—a moment—perhaps somebody—Mr. Neville—would help me to get home again—"
[Illustration: "'Dearest,' he whispered, putting his arm around her, 'you must come with us'">[
"Come with me, Miss West," whispered Stephanie, "I want you. Will you come to my room with me for a little while?"
She looked into Stephanie's eyes, turned and looked at Neville.
"Dearest," he whispered, putting his arm around her, "you must come with us."
She nodded and moved forward, steadily, between them both, and entered the house, head-carried high on the slender neck, but her face was colourless under the dark masses of her loosened hair, and she swayed at the foot of the stairs, reaching out blindly at nothing—falling forward.