"No; and I don't know why."

The birds were coming from shade and picket--for midday had been
warm--into the fields and along the hedges, and were fluttering from one
fence-rail to another ahead of them and piping from the bushes by the
wayside and the top of young weeds.

"You wrote that you were--'getting over it.' In the usual way?"

Crittenden glanced covertly at Judith's face. A mood in her like this
always made him uneasy.

"Not in the usual way; I don't think it's usual. I hope not."

"How, then?"

"Oh, pride, absence--deterioration and other things."

"Why, then?"

Judith's head was leaning backward, her eyes were closed, but her face
seemed perfectly serious.

"You told me to get over it."

"Did I?"

Crittenden did not deign to answer this, and Judith was silent a long
while. Then her eyes opened; but they were looking backward again, and