My library door opened, and Liosha, bright-eyed, with quivering lip and tragic face, burst in, and seeing me, flung herself down by my side and buried her head on the arm of the chair and began to cry wretchedly.
"My dear, my dear," said I, bewildered by this tornado of misery. "My dear," said I, putting an arm round her shoulders, "what is the matter?"
"I'm a fool," she wailed. "I know I'm a fool, but I can't help it. I went in there just now. I didn't know they were there. Susan's music mistress came and I had to go out of the nursery—and I went into the drawing-room. Oh, it's hard, Hilary, dear—it's damned hard."
"My poor Liosha," said I.
"There doesn't seem to be a place in the world for me."
"There's lots of places in our hearts," I said as soothingly as I could. But the assurance gave her little comfort. Her body shook.
"I wish the cargo had killed me," she said.
I waited for a little, then rose and made her sit in my chair. I drew another near her.
"Now," said I. "Tell me all about it."
And she told me in her broken way.