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 The strange speech found an echo in Olivia's heart. Lately the same thought had come to her again and again—if only she could be simple like Higgins or the kitchen-maid. Such a state seemed to her at the moment the most desirable thing in the world. It was perhaps this strange desire which led Sabine to surround herself with what Durham called "queer people," who were, after all, simply people like Higgins and the kitchen-maid who happened to occupy a higher place in society.

"The air here needs clearing," Sabine was saying. "It needs a thunderstorm, and it can be cleared only by acting. . . . This affair of Jean and Sybil will help. We are all caught up in a tangle of thoughts and ideas . . . which don't matter. . . . You can do it, Olivia. You can clear the air once and for all."

Then for the first time Olivia thought she saw what lay behind all this intriguing of Sabine; for a moment she fancied that she saw what it was Sabine wanted more passionately than anything else in the world.

Aloud she said it, "I could clear the air, but it would also be the destruction of everything."

Sabine looked at her directly. "Well? . . . and would you be sorry? Would you count it a loss? Would it make any difference?"

Impulsively she touched Sabine's hand. "Sabine," she said, without looking at her, "I'm fond of you. You know that. Please don't talk any more about this . . . please, because I want to go on being fond of you . . . and I can't otherwise. It's our affair, mine and Michael's . . . and I'm going to settle it, to-night perhaps, as soon as I can have a talk with him. . . . I can't go on any longer."

Taking up the yellow parasol, Sabine asked, "Do you expect me for dinner to-night?"

"Of course, more than ever to-night. . . . I'm sorry you've