Swedish summer night. But when the clouds of depression closed in upon
her, they grew pale and light less and disturbingly furtive, so that
Keith's glance found it hard to meet them.

Her gaiety sparkled when she was herself, and she had a passionate love
of everything that was bright and pleasant. Once she had always been
that way and at times she would tell Keith what a wonderful time she had
as a girl, and how she used to be the centre and inspiration of every
social gathering in which she took part. She had a quick mind, too, and
a heart full of impulsive generosity. But from one extreme she would go
to another, so that, when the dark moments came, she would even regret
kindnesses conferred while the sun was still shining. In such moments
she would sometimes speak to the boy of her ailment as if he were in
some mysterious way responsible for it.

Yet she loved the boy to distraction and became filled with unreasoning
anxiety the moment he was out of sight. Her attitude toward her husband
was the same. He could never leave the home or return to it without
being kissed. The moment he was outside the kitchen door, she hastened
to the window and leaned out of it so that she might watch him until he
vanished about the corner at the head of the lane. And there she
generally lay waiting for him when he came home. If he was late, which
happened almost every day, she would be the victim of a thousand fears
as she made more and more frequent trips between the kitchen and the
living-room window. When he finally came, she acted as if she had not
seen him for months while he pretended to be more or less bored by her
attentions.

But there were moments, too, when her tenderness flared into startling
outbursts of bleak, cutting anger, giving way in the end to floods of