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“Are you sure it’s all right for me to stay?” Marion asked Mrs. Mayberry anxiously. “I’ll try to be as little bother as possible, but—”

“In the circumstances, it seems the best thing to do,” Mrs. Mayberry replied. “Don’t you agree, Stanley?”

“What?” Mr. Keane had evidently been deep in thought. “Oh, yes—can’t see anything else for it.”

“Yes, exactly,” Mrs. Mayberry said rather hurriedly. “Now, Mr. Kelsall, if you don’t mind me suggesting it, I think it would be a good idea if you were to go back to your yacht and have someone pack a case for Miss Singleton—she would naturally like to have her own things. I expect your daughter can suggest what is necessary—”

“Yes, yes, good idea,” Mr. Kelsall agreed. “I’ll bring it back myself—”

He bent over Marion, still reclining on the chair.

“I can’t say how sorry I am about this, my dear,” he said with a gentleness that surprised his hearers. “I hate to think of you being in pain—and I had been looking forward to your company.”

“I’m terribly disappointed, too,” Marion said softly. “But perhaps it will only be for a day or two.”

“I shall certainly postpone leaving until then,” Mr. Kelsall said firmly, and taking Marion’s hand in his, he raised it to his lips with awkward gallantry. “Take care of yourself, little lady!”

“I will,” she promised gratefully, and watched him with thoughtful, half closed eyes until he vanished from sight.

There was a brief silence. Then Mrs. Mayberry turned to Owen.

“If you will wheel me to my room, I can sit in another chair while you use this to take Marion to one of the guest rooms. I will send Bertha to help you.”

“How good you are,” Marion sighed. “Everyone is so kind when one is in trouble!”

“Who would not be kind to so beautiful and talented a young lady?” Dr. Lefevre inquired, and glanced at Owen for confirmation.

But Owen was already wheeling his aunt indoors and so did not notice the look.

* * *

Therese, the romantic-minded maid who had helped Lucy unpack when she had first arrived at the villa, was enchanted to hear that Marion was to stay and that she would be entrusted with her care.

“Such a beautiful young lady,” she sighed happily. “And with such talent! Have you heard her sing, mamselle?”

“Yes, I have,” said Lucy. “She has a wonderful voice.”

“So pure, so true!” Therese lifted her eyes expressively. “It is no wonder that all the gentlemen are in love with her! But she, of course, has eyes in one direction only! Monsieur Owen—he is fortunate indeed! And then her clothes—her lingerie—but out of this world. All made by hand and so fine—but I must go. That is her bell.”

It seemed to Lucy that the bell rang a great many times that day. Indeed, during the afternoon, it rang so persistently that it disturbed Lucy at work in the study. It was, she knew, Therese’s afternoon off, and evidently no one else considered it their business to answer the bell. For a moment Lucy hesitated. Then as it continued to ring, she went to find out what was the matter.

She tapped on the door of Marion’s room and an irritable voice answered. As Lucy went in she gave a little gasp. She knew that during the morning flowers from Mr. Kelsall had arrived for Marion, but she was not prepared for such a lavish display as this. The room looked like a florist’s shop, and the perfume was almost overpowering.

“Oh, so you’ve decided to come at last—” Marion began, and stopped when she saw it was Lucy and not Therese who had answered her summons. “Where’s that girl? I’ve been ringing for her for ages.”

“It’s her afternoon off,” Lucy explained.

“Oh, it is, is it?” Marion said irritably. “And why wasn’t anyone else told to answer my bell, I should like to know?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Lucy said quietly. “I don’t have anything to do with the household arrangements.”

“Naturally!” Marion sounded surprised that Lucy should think it necessary to make such a remark. “Well, anyway, now that you’re here, you’ll do as well as anyone. I’m going to get up and I want some help.”

“But, Miss Singleton, I understood that when the doctor called this morning he said—”

“He said I'd got to rest until the swelling went down. Well, it has. Look!” Marion thrust her foot out from under the light bedclothes, and certainly the swelling did seem to be considerably less. “Now stop making a fuss and get my clothes!”

Lucy was in a very unpleasant position. Marion was a guest here, though an unexpected one. Lucy herself was an employee. That meant she could hardly refuse to do as Marion wished unless she took the rather petty line that acting as a lady’s maid was not within the terms of her engagement. She decided to see if persuasion would not solve the difficulty.

“Miss Singleton, I do think you would be unwise to get up before the doctor has definitely said you can,” she said earnestly. “And surely, if he had felt that it was all right for you to get up this afternoon, he would have said so this morning.”

“Will you kindly stop arguing, and do as you’re told?” Marion said rudely.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Lucy said quietly. “You are asking me to take too great a responsibility, Miss Singleton, particularly as you’ve made it clear that your ankle isn’t really better yet. It can’t be, or you would not want assistance to get dressed.

Marion capitulated abruptly.

“Oh, very well,” she said sulkily. “If you won’t, you won’t! But I’m bored, stuck here all on my own. Where is everybody?”

“Mrs. Mayberry and Bertha are both resting,” Lucy explained. “Mrs. Mayberry had a bad night and Bertha was up looking after her.”

“Oh?” Marion said indifferently. “And the men?”

“Mr. Keane went to see a friend in Menton this afternoon. Mr. Vaughan went out this morning after breakfast. I have no idea where to or when he will be back,” Lucy told her. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Singleton, I must get back to my work.”

“And that’s another thing,” Marion said sourly. “That exasperating tap-tap-tap for hours at a time. Can’t you do something else for a change?”

“I'm afraid not—unless my employer tells me to,” Lucy said steadily.

Marion shrugged her shoulders.

“Determined not to lose your job, aren’t you?” she suggested sardonically. “Well, if you ask me—”

Lucy fled. She reached the study and sat down at the desk, only to. discover that her hands were shaking too much for her to resume work. She pushed the little machine away, rested her elbows on the desk and buried her face in her hands.

Really Marion had behaved outrageously, and even boredom and the pain she might still be feeling— though it could not be much—was no excuse. Lucy felt angry and unhappy. She knew that it was not for her to sit in judgment on the girl Owen was in love with, but how could she—how
could
she behave in such an ill-bred way? And could love be so blind that it would overlook such behaviour?

“Hullo, something wrong, Lucy?”

Lucy gave a little scream. Owen had come into the room by the open french window and was standing looking at her.

“You do manage to sneak up on me, don’t you?” she said resentfully. “Can’t I stop working for a single moment without”

Owen sat down on the edge of the desk.

“Truce at an end?” he asked. “Because if so, I do think you might tell me why. What
has
upset you?”

“Oh, nothing,” Lucy said wearily. “I’m being silly, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you are,” Owen agreed. “Obviously you've got an attack of the mullygrubs and you’re refusing to take the proper medicine for them.”

“What
are
the mullygrubs?” Lucy asked, suddenly feeling much more cheerful.

“Oh, don’t you know?” Owen looked surprised. “It’s when something has upset you and for some reason or other you can’t do anything about it. You get a feeling of repression and frustration which can only be relieved by screaming at the top of your voice. Or—” he added thoughtfully, “by heaving a brick through a plate glass window, according to some people. Everybody gets 'em at some time or other. I've had them all day.”

“Oh!” Lucy could not repress a smile, though she wondered just what had caused the attack in his case. “And which are you going to do—scream, or try the brick cure? They've got some lovely plate glass windows in some of the shops in Monte Carlo!”

“Don't tempt me!” Owen pleaded, holding up his hand. “No, actually, I'm going to try another cure! I'm going to have a swim.”

“Oh!” Lucy could not keep a note of envy out of her voice. Then; remembering that she had work to do, she added primly: “I hope the cure is effective.”

“It won't be—if I have to undergo it alone,” he announced. “You come too, Lucy!”

“I'd love to,” she said frankly. “But I've got some work to finish, and besides—”

“Besides—?” he prompted.

“It doesn't seem quite fair—when Miss Singleton is stuck in bed. She's feeling rather bored, I think—” her voice trailed away before Owen's penetrating look.

“Oh, so that was it!” he remarked. "You were at the receiving end of Marion's sulks! Well, forget it.”

“Mr. Vaughan, please!” Lucy protested uncomfortably.

“Now what have I done?” Owen asked plaintively.

Lucy twittered with her fingers on the typewriter keys, her eyes downcast so that she should not meet his.

“Well, just I think it's—rather disloyal of you to— to speak, like that of Miss Singleton to me—or to anyone else, seeing that you and she—” she glanced up appealingly at him. To her relief he did not look angry.

“I know what you mean, Lucy,” he said gravely. “And I quite agree with you. If two people mean a lot to one another, they should be loyal to each other. But will you take it from me that in this case—” he hesitated— “I know just what I'm doing, and there’s no question of any disloyalty?”

“If you say so,” Lucy said doubtfully.

“I do say so,” Owen was very emphatic. “And now, will you come down off that very moral high horse of yours and come out to the pool?”

“Yes,” Lucy said recklessly. “I will!”

* * *

That evening Lucy had the unpleasant experience of overhearing a conversation that was not intended for her ears.

She was sitting at her bedroom window thinking over all that had happened during the day, and she was in a mood when starlight appealed so she had not put on the light.

Half dozing, half day-dreaming, she suddenly realised that two people had come out on to the veranda, one end of which terminated within a few feet of her window. They were talking in undertones, but all the same, she could recognise their voices.

For a moment she hesitated. Should she, by pulling her curtains and putting on the light, let them know that she was there? Or didn’t it matter, seeing that she could not hear what they were saying?

Before she had decided, however, Mrs. Mayberry raised her voice slightly.

“Your trouble, Owen, is that you’re a lot too kind hearted! This would never have happened if—” Lucy heard her say.

“Go on, rub it in,” Owen, replied wryly.

“Well, it’s true, my dear! You go out of your way to help people—”

“Never again!” Owen declared. “At least, not—”

He left the sentence unfinished, but evidently Mrs. Mayberry understood what he meant.

“Fm delighted to hear it,” she announced. “But I warn you, Owen, I'm not too sure that hints, however pointed, are going to be sufficient. You may have to make the situation clear in so many words—”

Lucy clapped her hands over her ears, horrified that she had listened so long. She had no idea what they were talking about, but that was not the point. She was eavesdropping, and that was a despicable thing to do. Very carefully she crept over to the door of her room, opened it silently and then closed it with a little crash, at the same time switching on her light. Then humming a little tune, she walked over to the window and rattled the curtains along their runners. Surely that would give the impression that she had just come into the room and they would never know that they had been overheard! And then she could put what she had heard out of her mind with an easy conscience.

But the day was not yet finished. A little later, as she was returning from her room after taking a shower, Marion’s door suddenly opened, and Marion, hanging heavily on to the handle, beckoned to her.

“I want to talk to you,” she announced imperatively.

"I'm rather tired,” Lucy said truthfully. “Won’t tomorrow morning do?”

“No, it won’t,” Marion snapped. “I want to talk to you now!”

With a shrug, Lucy complied, automatically giving Marion a supporting arm to get back to bed.

“Thanks,” Marion said shortly, and looked at Lucy critically. “You know, I don’t think you’re a bad sort, at heart. But that doesn’t stop you being an utter little fool!”

Lucy promptly moved in the direction of the door, but Marion called her back.

“All right, it wasn’t particularly tactful of me to say that,” she admitted. “But honestly, I’m worried on your account.”

“Oh?” Lucy said sharply. “Why?”

“Because you’re heading for a crash,” Marion said calmly. “And if it’s possible, I’d like to prevent that actually happening.”

“I don't think you know enough about my affairs to be in a position to say that,” Lucy said steadily.

“No? That’s just where you’re wrong,” Marion announced calmly. “For instance, I know all about Dick Corbett and you.”

“Who told you?” Lucy asked sharply.

“Owen, of course,” Marion explained, arranging her pillows more comfortably. “You’ve got him really worried, you know.”

“If, as you say, Mr. Vaughan told you that Dick and I were once engaged, then he must also have told you that there’s no need to worry on that score,” Lucy kept her voice even with difficulty. “That is over and done with—as Mr. Vaughan knows.”

Marion laughed softly.

“Oh, my dear girl, he knows that all right!” she admitted. “But that’s just the trouble. Having got Dick out of your system—somewhat quickly, I can’t help feeling— you’ve become something of a menace to my poor Owen!”

“What do you mean?” Lucy stared at her blankly.