It seemed too good to be true that in twenty-four hours she would actually find herself back in London--away from this gloomy, tree-girdled house with its depressing atmosphere both outside and in, away from Lady Gertrude's scathing tongue and Isobel's two-edged speeches, and, above all, secure for a time from Roger's tumultuous love-making and his unuttered demand for so much more than she could ever give him.
She craved for the rush and bustle of London, for the play that might keep her from thinking, the music which should minister to her soul, and, more than all, she longed to see the beloved familiar faces--to see Penelope and Ralph and Lord St.John.

She felt as though for the last three months she had been dwelling in some dreadful unknown world, with only boy Sandy to cling to out of the whole unnerving chaos.
* * * * * * "You blessed child! I _am_ glad to see you!" Penelope, looking the happiest and most blooming of youthful matrons, was on the platform when the Cornish express steamed into Waterloo station and Nan alighted from it.

The two girls embraced warmly.
"You can't--you can't possibly be as glad as I am, Penny mine," returned Nan.

"Hmf!"-- wrinkling up her nose.

"_How_ nice London smells!" Penelope burst out laughing.