quick, tender language springing from her understanding. He used his
words like bludgeons.

Still they loved one another, and her deepest hurt was that he wanted
that which she could not give him. So she placed his longing before hers
and grieved most for his lack.

The front door-bell rang. They looked at one another wonderingly, then
Mr. Reynolds slowly withdrew his feet from the window sill and went as
slowly down the hall. He opened the door to Suzanna, who stood waiting,
conventionally attired in hat and cloak, pale, and with eyes wide and
dark.

"Good evening, Reynolds," said Suzanna.

"O! good evening, come in, come in," urged Mr. Reynolds hospitably, but
totally at a loss as he looked at the little figure. "Come right out to
the kitchen."

Suzanna followed him. When once in the kitchen, she stood for a moment
blinking in the light streaming from the hanging lamp under which Mrs.
Reynolds stood; then she said:

"I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted myself out to
you."

"Well, I never, dear love!" was all Mrs. Reynolds could say as she wiped
her hands on a convenient roller towel.

Mr. Reynolds laughed. "Oh, you think you'd like a change of homes,