The back of her neck, Dowie realised, was now as slenderly round and velvet white as it had been when she had dressed her hair on the night of the Duchess' dance.

Dowie did not know that its loveliness had been poor George's temporary undoing; she only thought of it as a sign of the wonderful change.

It had been waxen pallid and had shown piteous hollows.
She turned about and spoke.
"Dowie, dear, I am going to write to Lord Coombe." Dowie's heart hastened its beat and she herself being conscious of the fact, hastened to answer in an unexcited manner.
"That'll be nice, my dear.

His lordship'll be glad to get the good news you can give him." She asked herself if she would not perhaps tell her something--something which would make the fourth time.
"Perhaps he's asked her to do it," she thought.
But Robin said nothing which could make a fourth time.

After she had eaten her breakfast she sat down and wrote a letter.