parlour, smiling mysteriously to herself, her vast, pale-blue
crinoline rustling against the furniture.

"My sister-in-law," said Ailsa, after an interval of silent
constraint, "is very Southern. Any sort of kinship means a great
deal to her. I, of course, am Northern, and regard such matters as
unimportant."

"It is very gracious of Mrs. Craig to remember it," he said. "I
know nothing finer than confidence in one's own kin."

She flushed angrily. "I have not that confidence--in kinsman."

For a moment their eyes met. Hers were hard as purple steel.

"Is that final?"

"Yes."

The muscles in his cheeks grew tense, then into his eyes came that
reckless glimmer which in the beginning she had distrusted--a gay,
irresponsible radiance which seemed to mock at all things worthy.

He said: "No, it is not final. I shall come back to you."

She answered him in an even, passionless voice:

"A moment ago I was uncertain; now I know you. You are what they
say you are. I never wish to see you again."