Mavis Areta Winder

(from clipping taped inside dust jacket, where flap would have been) Anne Lorrimer had been lonely in her hotel in Christchurch and here in this lovely home she had been made so welcome. But for the hundredth time Anne was wondering why she had become a guest in this house and why she didn't obey all her instincts and break away...get back to her hotel, where she had been quite comfortable, if a little bored, until she had met these people -- this family of Michael Rollington's -- a week ago.

She did not fit in here, and if she had known...well, she would never have looked them up. They had been kindness itself to her, waited on her hand and foot, anticipated her slightest need. They had begged her not to leave, to regard their home as hers as long as she was in the city...why, then, wasn't she happy? Why? For the hundredth time she ask the question -- and yet she knew the answer even while she would not face up to it.